


The Statistic Probability of Falling in Love With Your Roommate.

by nospacesv



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: ;), Domestic, Domestic Fluff, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, John is infatuated, M/M, Might be smut later? idk, Pining, Sherlock is touch starved, idk its my first fic, ill add a warning for that, ill change the rating as the fic goes on, so far its only gna be cute stuff, uhhhh, vulture culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-02-29 07:29:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 31,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18774067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nospacesv/pseuds/nospacesv
Summary: Sherlock and John love each other, that's a fact. As friends, of course, but there's something lingering in-between the two of them that neither can figure out. All it takes is a nearly concussed Sherlock to figure out what happens next.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi oh gosh! This is my first fanfiction so it might be a bit rough around the edges, but I'm quite pleased with it! Lemme know your thoughts

John woke up staring at the ceiling, the ever-so annoying sound of his alarm beeping in his left ear. Arching his back and raising his arms above his head, he stretched, letting out a soft groan. 

_ Another Saturday morning _ , he mumbled to himself, still a little bleary eyed as he turned his alarm off on his mobile; casually perusing through his notifications to see if anyone had messaged him during the night. 

He saw an array of messages from Sherlock, as he glossed over them. Mostly grocery items, it seems. Saturday was shopping day, after all. His roommate hardly ever slept, and it became the norm for him to message John at the wee hours of the morning.

He sat up in bed, swinging his feet over the edge. The air was crisp and the floorboards were quite chilly on his feet. He stood up and tied his dressing gown around his waist, and slipped into some slippers. He got a quick glance out of the window, noting the grey lighting casting over London, as the leaves blew around slowly with the occasional gust of wind. It’s times like this he lived in sunny California, or even the Bahamas. Anywhere sunny. 

As he left his room he heard a sound similar to nails on a chalkboard. Wincing, he glanced around the living room to see Sherlock playing his violin, although the bow was below the bridge, causing an ear curdling sound. John tried his best to cover his ears, it was far too early to be dealing with a stropping Sherlock.

“Can’t you play that thing properly?” John groaned, as he walked to the kitchen to fill the kettle up and flick the switch. Sherlock didn’t respond, but only put the instrument down, hanging it from his music stand and placing the bow in the divet. 

Soon the kettle was ready, and John made two cups of tea, double checking that it was, in fact, sugar in the jar this time. Last time he did it blindly, he ended up with malic acid in his cup. Few things can ruin a cup of tea for John, but that put him off it for a week.

He set Sherlock’s on the coffee table in front of him, as he’d moved to plop down on the sofa, taking up the three seats with his lanky limbs. John sat down in his seat, putting his feet up and reading the morning paper

“Do you need anything from Tesco’s?” He spoke to Sherlock, not looking up from his morning paper.

“Honestly John, can’t you read the messages I sent you? I clearly asked for ammonia and hydrogen peroxide.” He scoffed, sitting up only to grab his tea, sipping it all too fast and wincing as he burnt his tongue.

“Sorry, didn’t see it through the other 55 messages I woke up to. You know I don’t have unlimited texts, so you owe me if my phone bill triples like it did last month.”

“Not my fault you weren’t here to listen.”

“It was three o’clock in the morning, some people actually sleep. You should try it sometime, might make you less grouchy.”

“Can’t think if I’m asleep, and what’s the use in that?” He said, as if that justified him pushing his body to its physical limits. He only slept when he crashed, and John  _ hated _ him for it.

John squinted in Sherlock’s direction. Sherlock raised his eyebrows as he took another sip. John was handing him his buttons and saying  _ Push them _ .

“Care to join me to the shops?” John asked dryly, still reading his paper, already knowing the answer.

“I can list 3,928 things I could do instead of helping you with such a tedious task.”

“Go on then.”

“I could chop of my toe and leave it in bleach, just to see what would happen to the skin, I could smoke four and a half cigarettes, maybe five if I’m quick. I could-”

“I wasn’t being serious.” John groaned, knowing damn well Sherlock could go on and list the activities he had in mind.

“Then why did you ask?” Sherlock asked innocently, a twinkle in his eye. He  _ knew _ what he was doing.

“Y’know, one of these days I’ll take you to the shops. Or maybe even for a walk in the park. You shouldn’t only leave the house when there’s a case.”

“Nonsense. We went out for Thai just three days ago.”

“That was  _ three _ weeks ago, Sherlock.”

“Hm. Guess the Thai wasn’t that good enough to remember. We should really find a better place. Oh well, got the number right. Dates all merge together when there’s nothing to do” He let out an over dramatic sigh.

And with that note, John stood up and put his half drunken tea on the coffee table, alongside the newspaper he’d only half-read.

“Right, hopping in the shower, need the loo?” John asked, fiddling with the tie on his dressing gown. Sherlock shaked his head, so John walked over by the kitchen and flicked the hot water on.

Though the apartment was old, the shower and tap was quite new. John hated taking baths because his broad shoulders never quite fit, and he always got out of it feeling more stiff than before. John managed to install a new tap system for it, as well as drill in the shower head. Unfortunately, he installed the nozzle for the hot and cold backwards, so it was really a guessing game as which way made the water hotter and which made it colder. He was still quite chuffed with himself, for installations and plumbing was never his strong suit.

As he waited for the hot water to run through, he undressed, hanging his dressing gown up on the hook by the door. As he stood in front of the mirror, only in his pants, he ran his hand softly over the scar tissue on his shoulder. Most called it a sign of honour for serving our Queen and country, but John saw it as a feature that made him look ugly. He tilted his head, looking over his body shape. His stomach and chest was lined with coarse blond hair, and faint stretch marks were appearing on his belly. He let out a sigh, took his pants off, and hopped in the shower- hoping the water would wash away his insecurities.

 

\--

 

After he was done cleaning himself, he dried off and slipped back into his dressing gown, carrying the shirt and pants he slept in and popped them into his hamper. He first slipped into some jeans, putting his belt on, leaving his dressing gown on his duvet, his bed still not made from this morning. As he rummaged through his drawers, looking for a vest to wear, he saw out of the corner of his eye, his door handle start to turn.

“John are you-” Sherlock yelled, barging through and making direct eye contact with John, completely topless.

“Can’t it wait a minute?” John hissed, trying his best to make himself decent as his ears went bright red from embarrassment.

“Clearly not. Can you also pick me up a bottle of bleach and some fairy liquid. Very important. Best be leaving soon or my experiment will be ruined.” Sherlock wasn’t making eye contact anymore, rather looking John up and down. There was an ever so faint tinge of pink on his cheeks, but John thought nothing of it.

“Last time I got you ammonia and bleach you mixed them and made chlorine gas. Even Mrs. Hudson had to walk around with a mask on for a week til it aired out.”

“It was the chloramine and hydrazine you had to worry about, not the lingering hydrochloric acid _.  _ Clearly different things.”

“I don’t care. Those filtered masks were uncomfortable and sweaty, you either get bleach or ammonia. I won’t buy both.”

“But they won’t even go near each other-” Sherlock almost whined.

“You’re acting like a child who doesn’t get the sweets he wants at the cash till.” John pinches his nose, letting out an aggravated sigh. “Just pick one. I’m not having this apartment fumigated with toxic gases again, so help me.”

Sherlock looks him up and down once again, lets out a very loud sigh. 

“I’ll go put my shoes on.”

“I’m sorry what?” John blinked. He wasn’t joining him, surely.

“I know you heard me, John. I’ll buy what I need, therefore you can’t ruin all this  _ fun _ I’ve been having. Hurry up and get dressed, I haven’t got all day.” And with that, Sherlock shut the door behind him, pulling on the handle once shut to make sure it wouldn’t swing open.

John furrowed his brow, still not quite sure what happened.  _ Was this all it took to get Sherlock out of the house?  _ He should refuse to buy stuff more often. It was difficult shopping by himself, though his limp was mostly gone it did flare up occasionally when by himself. But around Sherlock, it was as if he never got shot in the first place. He shook his confused thoughts away, and picked out a jumper to wear.

  
  


\--- 

 

Walking around the shops with Sherlock was a nightmare. He insisted on pushing the trolley, but watching someone as graceful has his roommate try to guide this clunky object around tight corners made John’s heart rate rise with anxiety. The amount of times John was hit on the back of the ankle or whacked by the side as Sherlock turned around with it quickly, well, John lost count.

John snuck away to pick up some sponges, and found Sherlock attentively reading the labels of the hydrogen peroxide, a slight frown on his face.

“Alright?” John asked, plopping the sponges in the trolley. Sherlock grunted in response.

“This is ridiculous- How am I supposed to clean them with 3 per cent hydrogen peroxide.” He scoffed, throwing it back onto the counter with a huff, knocking a couple of the nearby bottles over.

“Well any stronger and it’d cause severe irritation on your skin. The higher stuff is usually used for what, hair?” John raised an eyebrow. Sherlock, cleaning? That’s unheard of. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, tapping something into his phone quite quickly.

“Aha!” He said a little bit too louder than socially acceptable in a store. John tried his best to shush him as an older lady turning to look at him with a confused expression on her face “I can order it online, and with free two-day shipping no less.” 

He tapped a few more times on his mobile before placing it away in his pocket, a pleased grin plastered ever so softly on his face. John felt his cheeks flush slightly, mesmerised by the curl of Sherlock’s lips. It was rare he smiled, and John loved to appreciate it when it happened.

“Great. Can we get back to shopping now? We haven’t gotten any food, unless you want to live off sponges and fairy liquid for the week.” John retorted, shaking the thoughts of his attractive- wait, attractive? roommate’s mouth out of his head.

Sherlock opened his mouth, and then closed it again, furrowing his brow as he pushed the cart a bit too fast through the lane, nearly knocking the older lady off her feet. 

“Was thinking about pasta tomorrow.” John mumbled, staring at the different types of pasta, pulling out two different brands of penne, examining them to deter what the price difference was. Sherlock groaned, tilting his head back.

“Can’t you hurry UP?” Sherlock asked “I got what I need, can’t we just eat take out for the rest of the week?” 

“You’re joking.” John stared at him, deadpanned “You hardly eat as it is, and when you do, I’m going to hide as many vegetables and vitamin supplements in your meal as possible.”

Sherlock glared, but it shut him up.

Soon enough they were done, much to Sherlock’s relief. The cashier was newer to this job, having trouble finding the barcode on seperate items. Sherlock changed his weight from one foot to the other, quite bothered. When it was their turn to be rung up, John handed Sherlock the bags. He blinked down at his hands, confused as to why he was holding them.

“Look, I’ll buy your cleaners for you if you make yourself useful and bag it up.” Sherlock’s mouth was slightly agape, but started to cram things in the plastic and canvas bags in no particular order. 

After John paid, he scooted behind Sherlock, his hand grazing his back. Sherlock’s eyes widened ever so slightly, his body tensing up, not sure how to handle the slightest amount of physical contact. John leaned in front of Sherlock to grab a bag and help pack up the remainder of the items purchased- and snatched the eggs out of his roommates slender hands as he tried to put them in the bottom of the bag with the peroxide and box of tea. His hands grazed past Sherlock’s, and they locked eyes. Sherlock seemed.. flustered. John cocked an eyebrow 

“Alright?” He asked, looking Sherlock up and down, as he just nodded in response. 

And with that, they picked up the bags and headed home in silence.

Sherlock threw the groceries down and immediately went to his room, not even bothered to take his shoes off. John put the groceries away, making sure to leave out the items Sherlock asked for. He made a mental note to check on Sherlock later.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o-kay this is the one with the vulture culture-y stuff! (just a mention of roadkill n bones, nothing graphic!)

As the day lulled on by, from watching daytime shows on the television and cleaning up the apartment slightly, John found himself waking up on the sofa to the obnoxiously loud sound of BBC’s News programme opening. Huh. He must’ve dozed off. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he took a long inhale through his nose, and smelt something so disgusting he thought he was going to vomit then and there

He shot up from the sofa, glancing around, to see Sherlock digging around in a storage container left on the counter, a mask over his face and gloves on his hands. There was a slight sloshing sound and Sherlock moved things from that toxic container to a dry one.

“What the fuck is that smell?” He exclaimed, plugging his nose. The smell was sour and… warm? It reminded John of gangrene, bringing back bad memories of him working in A&E.

“Fox.” Was all Sherlock said

“I beg your pardon?” John stood up, looking up at the kitchen counter, only to nearly throw up in his mouth. There was Sherlock, digging through a muddy-grey water and pulling out bones, examining them closely and placing them in a dry container 

“For FUCKS sake.” John yelled gagging once more.

“I found a fox that had gotten hit by a car about a month ago, and thought I’d give maceration a try.”

“ _ In our apartment? _ ” John hissed, trying to cover his mouth and nose with his jumper. Nothing helped, the smell of rotten flesh filled the air, and he couldn’t escape. 

“Well, I kept it in 221C for a while, and then-” 

“Why didn’t you leave it up there?” John blurted, cutting him off “That reeks, Sherlock! Does Mrs Hudson know you used her spare apartment to hide dead animals?” Sherlock blinked, looking up at him from his ‘experiment’.

“Of course not, she never goes up there.”

“And what, pray tell,  makes that okay?” John was fuming, and Sherlock couldn’t understand why. He shrugged in response and went back to searching through the thick liquid, before dumping it down the drain; and taking his mask off.

“I can’t fucking believe you sometimes,” John almost let out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief “dumping fucking rotten fox soup down the kitchen sink”

“It’s hardly soup, John. It’s more of a fermentation.”

“Still disgusting. If you get one drop of that on the counter, you’re bleaching the entire house. I don’t fucking care how long it takes, I want that stench gone.” Sherlock nodded his head, and went to adding a very shallow amount of water to the container with the yellowy brown bones.

John, however, hovered and watched him add a mountain of fairy liquid to the water

“Is that for the smell?” He mumbled, walking a little closer. The bones were quite fascinating, however the skull and a couple ribs were partially shattered, probably how the poor soul passed. 

“No, the soap breaks down the grease on the bones and asks as a degreaser. Easier to stain and bleach that way.” Sherlock mumbled in response

“So then they’ll be white?” Sherlock exhaled through his nose, stifling a short giggle.

“No, dear Watson. That’s what I needed the hydrogen peroxide for. Three per cent would take much too long. Honestly, didn’t you learn this in medical school? Its basic bone cleaning knowledge.”

“Learned more about the fractures and how to mend them, rather than how to handle them when they’re dead. Molly’d might be better for that.” He took a moment to reply, surprised at Sherlock calling him ‘dear’. 

After he finished up covering the bones in his soapy concoction, he set the container on the dining table, taking his gloves off. John glared at him

“What now?”

“You can’t leave that thing on the table.” John huffed.

“And why ever not?”  
“What if we have guests? What if Mrs. Hudson kicks us out for keeping a dead animal in our apartment? What if-”

“But you’d be upset at me if I snuck back into 221C and hid it there, wouldn’t you?” Sherlock had a smirk on his face, thinking he’d won this battle.

“Can’t you just-” John let out a groan, before walking behind Sherlock, his hand grazing his roommate’s hip ever so slightly; yanking the container off the table and jamming it under the kitchen sink “Out of sight, out of mind.” Sherlock was just staring at where the container was.

John stepped closer, leaning in front of him, his chest pressed ever so slightly against his roommate’s shoulder; waving his hand in front of his eyes

“Earth to Sherlock?”

Sherlock shaked his head, putting his hand on John’s shoulder, making awkward eye contact, his face slightly flushed.  _ What had gotten into Sherlock? _ He walked over to the sofa and sat down, trying his best to focus on the television news. Something about sightseeing Swanage. 

_ Maybe it was just-  _ No. Something was up, and John was going to find out.

  
  


\---

  
  


The incident John had woken up to really put him off his dinner, so he sat down to watch the telly as well, but not in his usual seat. He took a spot near Sherlock, thinking nothing of it. Sherlock shifted ever so slightly, straightening his back.

“This shites on again? It’s like the third time this week they’ve been talking about these beaches” John grumbled, before leaning over Sherlock to grab the remote from the armrest by his side, making sure to press his arm against his roommate’s chest.

“What on Earth-”

“I’m trying to change the channel, Eastenders will be on soon. Not my fault you hog the remote.” He grabbed the remote and changed it to his show.

“You really need to find a better show to watch, the story is beyond repetitive.” Sherlock sounded bored in his response, trying to not look like something was bothering him.

“Only when I watch with you, you always ruin the ending.” 

“It’s so predictable.”  
“Anything’s predictable for you and your _great_ mind, can’t you just let me enjoy this? We can watch whatever you want when it’s over.” John patted his roommate’s thigh twice, letting his hand linger for just a second more, glancing over to get a reading on the body language.

Sherlock licked his lips ever so slightly, and wiggled in his seat, bumping his knee against John’s. John found himself sitting with his legs a little further apart, letting his knee rest against Sherlock.

During the first commercial break, John glanced over to Sherlock, not having moved his knee. His eyes were wide like saucers, his body language rigid.

“Alright mate?” John murmured, moving his knee away slowly, trying to make it look like he was simply changing his sitting position. Maybe he was making Sherlock uncomfortable.

“You ask that too much. I’m quite fine, thank you.” Sherlock responded with a sigh, letting his back relax. He looked over at John, analysing his body, trying to deduce what on  _ Earth _ he was doing. John shrugged and went back to watching the television. 

  
  


\---

 

As the show ended, John handed the remote back to Sherlock, making sure to place it in his hands

“Your turn” He stated, watching Sherlock’s hand twitch ever so slightly with the contact

“What are you trying to, John Watson?”

“Give you… the remote?” Crap, was he on to him already? He knew Sherlock was quick, but  _ that _ quick?

“No not that the-” Sherlock shook his head, and although the light of the television was the only light source available, John could tell he was flustered “Nevermind.”

“O-kayy. Want to pick something to watch?” John stared at his eyes, trying to read him. His brow was furrowed and his mouth was ever so slightly frowning. He shook his head, turning the television off and walking into his room, closing the door with a slight slam. John sat there in the dark, confused he’s upset his roommate and frankly, his best friend.

  
  


\---

  
  
  


Sherlock was sitting up in bed, his legs outstretched and his face staring forward, thinking thinking thinking.  _ Does John realise what he’s doing to me? Is this some sick trick because of the fox? Why does he keep… touching me. Should I ask? Would that be obvious? For fucks sake why can’t I read him? What’s he hiding?  _ He was searching for an answer he couldn’t answer, and Sherlock hated not getting answers.

In the other room, John couldn’t sleep either. He stared up at the ceiling, his arm behind his head, resting the back of his head in the crick of his elbow. He sighed, trying to get Sherlock out of his brain, but he couldn’t. Rolling over onto his side, he shut his eyes and tried to push the thoughts away.


	3. Chapter 3

 

When John stirred in the morning, it wasn’t to his alarm this time, it was to a loud melancholic tune Sherlock was playing on his violin. He let out a sigh, stretching and sitting up. He didn’t try to stir much as he got up, trying his best to enjoy the notes coming out with a soft vibration. He tied his dressing gown around his waist, and slowly creeped out his room. There he saw Sherlock, eyes closed, focusing a little too hard on the notes. Some of them sound strained, like he couldn’t properly relax.

“Sounds nice” John spoke finally, after standing there for a moment or two, and the music stopped with a sudden jerk of the bow, resulting in a squeak. “Write that yourself?”

“Tchaikovsky.” He responded, setting the violin down.

“Gesundheit” John replied, almost limping to the kitchen to put the kettle on-  the colder weather always made his legs feel like they were concrete right in the morning; and today was a particularly bad spell.

As John set down the cup of tea in front of Sherlock’s seat, Sherlock squinted at him

“You’re trying to murder me, aren’t you?” Sherlock muttered, right as John took a sip of his own tea, causing him to sputter and cough, the tea going down the wrong pipe

“I’m sorry what?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if this tea was laced with arsenic,” He grumbled, sniffing it “Damn, it’s fine.”

“Hold on a minute, can we go back to accusing me of trying to murder you please? Greatly appreciated.”

“It’s simple. You’re trying to get me to fall in love with you by flirting through simple body gestures and touches to get me to a weak point where you can get away with killing me, and having an alibi of infatuation to get your way out of questions. And if I’m gone, God knows what Scotland Yard would do- bet it’d take them two weeks to identify how I di- why are you laughing?” Sherlock sounded very offended, a deep frown on his face.

“Where on God’s green Earth did you get these accusations from?” John stifled between chuckles, shaking his head.

“You kept your knee against my knee for 8 minutes last night, clearly you’re trying to get me to fall in love with you.” John blinked at his response.

“I wasn’t trying anything like that,” He mumbled in response “People can touch other people without wanting them to fall head over heels for them, they were accidents. If you’re paranoid I can be more wary of touching yo-”  
“NO.” Sherlock responded, a little too quick.

“Then what  _ is _ your problem?”

He paused.

“I’m going out.” Sherlock responded, standing up and walking right out the door, grabbing his Belstaff as he slammed the door behind him, leaving John sitting on the sofa, quite dazed.

  
  


\---

  
  


John sat in his own chair, rubbing his chin. His stubble was a little out of control, much past his liking. He should shave, but he’s been staring at this blog entry from Sherlock’s last case for the past week; and soon people won’t want to read it. Old news and all that. Seems like not shaving was procrastinating him from writing, but shaving would procrastinate him as well. Soon enough, his phone buzzed

 

_ Got a case, don’t expect me home. -SH _

 

John sighed at the message, Sherlock knows he worries and it only recently took him long enough to tell John when he’d be out for extensive periods of time (last time resulted in another drugs bust.) John got to typing a response.

 

_ Am free, can call a taxi if you need me. _

 

Sherlock never responded.

“Right, thats a no then.” John said to himself after fifteen minutes of silence. He closed his laptop and went to bed, shaking his roommate out of his head, as if that could ever happen.

 

\---

 


	4. Chapter 4

When John awoke, the house was quiet. He wondered if Sherlock even came home. Turning off his alarm he checked for any messages. None, although a missed call from a random number, probably a scammer trying to get his social security number. He sat up and stretched, groaning. His back was killing him, must look into getting a newer mattress.

He doddled bleary eyed to the bathroom, washing his face with cold water, trying to wake up a bit. Hands on the basin, he stared at himself. The stubble was more than he expected, he’d gotten quite lazy with his shaving. He had about an hour before work needed him, so fuck it. He shook his head and hunted for his shaving foam and his hand razor.

“I’m home.” A deep voice spoke from the bathroom doorway, causing John to jump and nick his chin. He let out a sharp exhale, grabbing a piece of toilet paper and dabbing the shallow cut

“Couldn’t that have waited til I finished shaving?” Was his only response, not turning his head to make eye contact with Sherlock. He sounded tired, though. It’s been days since he last slept, and the new case isn’t going to help. John washed his face with a damp flannel and looked up at Sherlock, examining his face.

“You’ve been through the mill, Christ.” was all John could say. Dirt was over his face, along with scrapes on his roommate’s high cheekbones and cheeks. His eyes were pink and veiny, bags heavy under the eyes and his lids half shut.

“‘M fine, are you done? I need a shower.”

“No.”

“Just let me know whe-”  
“Sit down” John ordered, putting the seat down on the toilet.

“Why would I-”

“I said sit.” John cut him off, his voice stern. Sherlock sat down hesitantly

“I’m fine, John, you worry too much, they’re just flesh wounds.” Sherlock responded, huffing a curl out of his face. John was too busy digging for the first aid supplies in the medicine cabinet to pay attention to Sherlock’s whining.

“What did you get into?” John mumbled, putting some warm water onto a flannel

“It was a stakeout, that ended up in a chase. Simple murderer on the run, basic homicide, how the police handled cases like that without me, I’ll never kn-” He stopped speaking as John carefully washed his cuts, wincing.

“Wish I could’ve been there, I love watching you work” John mumbled, gently wiping his face, being careful around the cuts. Sherlock’s mouth was slack, staring up at John, his eyes whirring around to get a reading of what he’s doing.

When John got out the disinfectant, he put some on a piece of toilet paper, placing his hand behind Sherlock’s head, keeping him steady as he dabbed the cuts, very focused on what he’s doing. Sherlock held his breath, trying not to melt into John’s hands like a puddle. John was very focused, the tip of his tongue sticking out of his slightly chapped lips, as he tutted away about Sherlock and his irresponsibility.

“There.” John threw the last piece of toilet paper in the bin, removing his hand from the back of Sherlock’s head, and he swore he saw a glimmer of disappointment in Sherlock’s eyes.

“Honestly John, that wasn’t necessary, They hardly broke the skin. You worry too much.”

John shrugged

“Better than worrying too little, want me to leave you to shower?” John asked, starting to put the supplies away. Sherlock nodded. “Right, I’ll go put the kettle on, and I’ll make you some toast. If you don’t eat, I expect you to go to bed.” And with that, he left to go do just that, leaving Sherlock craving John’s touch even more.

After John got a clean Sherlock to eat two pieces of toast with marmalade on them, he examined his head, checking for any spots he might’ve missed. Sherlock, unamused, kept swatting his hands away, trying not to get flustered.

“Sherlock you’ve got a bump the size of a golf ball on your head, what the fuck happened?” Sherlock shrugged in response

“Can’t remember. Not important.” He stood up, putting his crumb covered plate in the sink, rubbing his hands together “What?” He said once he saw the look John was giving him.

“You could be concussed.”

“Well.. I don’t  _ feel _ concussed.”

“But you could be.”

“Tenner says I’m not” He smirked, finishing the remainder of his tea before putting his mug in the sink alongside his plate.

“That’s not going to stop me from watching you if you fall asleep” Sherlock scoffed

“I’m not an infant, John. I’m not going to roll on my stomach when asleep and suffocate myself from a little bump on my head. Doesn’t you work need you as well?”

“Oops, sorry, with your recent attitude I couldn’t tell you were actually older than three years old, given your recent fucking temper tantrums. And I can call out, this is an emergency.”

“I don’t have temper tantrums” Sherlock rolled his eyes, trying to look more miffed than offended. John laughed

“ _ Oooh Joooohn why can’t you buy me hazardous chemicals? Waah waah. But Jooohn I want to leave the dead fox on the dining room table. I like the smell of death. Joooohn you’re trying to murder me with affection _ ” John put on his best whiny Sherlock voice and mimicked him

“Seems to me you’re more of the toddler than the two of us” Sherlock responded curtly, his cheeks going bright red with embarrassment. It took a lot to make him flushed, and it seems like John had done it, as he stifled a laugh, shaking his head at his roommate

“I’ll cut you a deal: I won’t murder you if you let me sit with you when you rest. I need to work on my blog entries but I’d feel much more comfortable knowing you were safe.” After some thought, Sherlock responded-

“Fine.” He didn’t sound too happy about it, he was a grown man after all. John picked up his laptop and followed Sherlock to his room.

“Great, go get comfortable, I’ll be in when I’m done” He mumbled, pulling his phone out to let his boss know he wouldn’t be showing up today.

There were few occasions when John had been in Sherlock’s room, but he always forgot how barren it was. Not much of a personal touch, but he was rarely in here. Sherlock had laid down, not bothering to get under the covers, watching John hover awkwardly.

“Are you just going to stand there and watch me?” Sherlock mumbled, a confused look on his face

“I Er… didn’t know where to sit.” He let out a soft chuckle. The only piece of furniture that John could sit on was the bed, and he didn’t just want to hop on there without permission.

Sherlock patted the spot next to him, before wriggling under the covers and facing the door, so when John sat down his back would be towards him. 

“Right..” John sat down carefully, trying not to move the mattress under his weight too much and disturb Sherlock. He watched Sherlock lay there, til his breathing slowed down and evened out, and then he opened up his laptop and began typing- trying his best to stay quiet.

  
  


It’d been a couple hours, and Sherlock seemed fine. Right when he debated getting up, he saw him stir, rotating and gently resting his head on John’s shoulder. John let out a soft sigh, closed his laptop, and shut his eyes whilst leaning his head against Sherlock’s.

When John opened up his eyes, he realised he was practically spooning Sherlock. With a start he did his best to move quickly but quietly, although inevitably stirring Sherlock; his arms still around Sherlock’s waist.

When Sherlock turned his head to see what was happening, John bolted up

“I uh.. Better go make some lunch.” He mumbled quickly, stumbling out the door before Sherlock could respond, just staring at him blankly, mouth slightly agape.

How the fuck was he going to explain that?

 

After blocking memories by making a cheese sandwich, he cursed at himself. He’d left his laptop in with Sherlock, and now had no idea how he would get it back. Whilst considering getting a new laptop, a sleepy Sherlock stumbled out of the room, wrapped up in a sheet, his curls pressed to one side of his head.

“John..” He spoke softly, almost too softly for John to hear

“Mm?” John replied, mouth full

“Can you come back to bed?” John nearly dropped his sandwich.

“I-I’m sorry?” He sputtered, wiping his mouth of crumbs

“Just forget I asked.” Sherlock responded, turning around and going back to his room. His face seemed grim. 

John sat there in silence, trying to figure out what was going on. After a minute passed, he slowly opened up Sherlock’s door, and found himself spooning up against the taller man, his body relaxing into John’s own. 

For some reason, this felt… Right. He wasn’t sure if right was the correct word, but it didn’t feel out of place. He sat there, and got a whiff of Sherlock’s shampoo. It smelt almost floral, maybe lavender? Or rose? Or- why was he debating the scent of his roommate’s hair. His friend was concussed, clearly, and felt the comfort made him feel safe. That was it. He was just… Helping him out. Nothing romantic. Just comfort.

 

John managed to free one hand, being able to peruse his mobile whilst Sherlock slept, for he wasn’t the tired one. He spent the day scrolling through news articles and responding to blog comments, occasionally glancing over at Sherlock’s asleep face to see if he was, in fact, still asleep. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was fake sleeping, but Sherlock was definitely out of it.

He stirred about after about two, maybe three hours, pushing himself away from John and rolling over, looking at him bleary eyed, emotionless.

“Alright?” John mumbled, gently pushing a curl away from his face. Sherlock nodded and mumbled something under his breath

“Right, I’ll uh,” He gestured to the door, standing up slowly.

“John” Sherlock called out

“Yeah Sherlock?”

“Can we do that again?”

“Yeah…. ‘course.” He responded, picking up his laptop on the way out, closing the door behind him softly.


	5. Chapter 5

When Sherlock emerged, in his pyjamas, John was sitting on the far end of sofa, engrossed in his show. The taller man sat down next to him, taking the middle seat.

“I was serious.” Was the first thing that came out of Sherlock’s mouth, looking at John, albeit startling him slightly. 

“About the uh..”

“The cuddling, yes.”

“Right.” John coughed, a little bit flustered “I was too.”

“Good.” And without a word of warning, Sherlock placed his head on John’s shoulder,  his temple right against the edge of it.

“That can’t be comfortable” John mumbled after a couple minutes of watching Sherlock rather than his show, so he lifted his arm up and let Sherlock snuggle against his chest, wrapping his own arm around his roommate’s shoulder. Sherlock let out a soft sigh in response, melting into John. John shook his head and let out a breathy chuckle.

  
  


This did, in fact, become a common occurrence. John and Sherlock would spend the evenings cuddling, unless Sherlock was busy with a case or too engrossed in his mind to even bother to speak. The concept quite warmed up to John, and he rather looked forward to their lazy hugs on the sofa. Most nights he didn’t even watch the television, he just watched Sherlock’s head rise up and down with his breathing. 

But one Saturday afternoon, as John put the groceries away and Sherlock stared at him from the sofa and said-

“I want to kiss you.” John nearly dropped the tin of peas he had in his hand

“Beg your pardon?” was all he managed to say in response.

“I want to kiss you.” Sherlock repeated himself to a tee, even the exact emphasis on the certain letters.

“Are you. Are you sure? You don’t seem like the kissing type.” Sherlock nodded, almost offended.

“Please, John, it’s not that difficult. Unless you don’t have the same urge to kiss me, I understand.”

“No no, it’s not that. I would just er… hate to ruin our evening television habits” Sherlock cocked an eyebrow

“Who said that had to stop?”

“I just meant if it wasn’t uh..” He fumbled with the jar of jam in his hand “Up to your standards, it might make things awkward between us.”

“Is that a yes, then?” It was as if Sherlock didn’t listen to a word John said, but that’s to be expected. He did avoid the question, after all.

“I guess so.” John stared at the remainder of the groceries, his face bright red.

“Good.” Sherlock responded with a nod, getting back to staring at the ceiling, a small grin on his face. 

John wasn’t sure what to do, did he waltz over there and start snogging him? Was it implied that it would happen that night? In a week? Would it even happen? What is going on? His mind was racing, as he sloppily put the groceries away, heading down to sit on his armchair. Sherlock’s eyes were closed, and John watched him, wondering when their kiss would be. Sherlock opened one eye and glanced over at John

“Well?”

“What, now?”

“I’m not getting any younger, John.” He joked, his nose wrinkling up with amusement as he made himself chuckle. John’s face was a deep red, there was no hiding it. 

He got up without a word, and hovered over Sherlock, not quite sure what angle to go from. Sherlock stared back up at him, his cheeks pink as well, his pupils wide. As John backed up; Sherlock stood up, slouching his head down to remain at a reasonable height from John. John licked his lips, and Sherlock watched, tilting his head to the side.

“Well?” John murmured, inching closer to Sherlock, “I’m not getting any younger, Sherlock.”

He felt Sherlock’s slender hand go under his chin, tilting it up. He traced John’s lower lip with his thumb, slowly placing that hand behind John’s head. John’s breathing hitched as the taller man leaned down, and pressed his lips to John’s. It lasted two, maybe three seconds, before Sherlock pulled back, looking John in the eye. John was shocked, his heart pounding in his ears. The corner of Sherlock’s mouth twitched as he went in again

The kisses were soft, and John found himself wrapping his hands around Sherlock’s neck. Never in a million years did he see himself kissing another man, but lo and behold. His own roommate at that. John eventually was the one to pull back, breathing heavy as he watched Sherlock frown, clearly wanting more. 

“My neck hurts” John mumbles, about an inch or two away from Sherlock’s lips. “Never kissed anyone taller than me” He stifled a laugh

“That’s quite surprising, given your height.” He murmured in response, not moving away. John pulled back to punch him playfully in the arm.

“Git.” John laughed, walked away, getting his tea off the kitchen counter and taking a sip. He was overwhelmed with emotion, his heart beating fast and his stomach doing flops. He hadn’t felt this way since he was in year 10. Shaking his head at himself, he drained his mug he left on the coffee table from this morning and put it down in the sink. Looking up, he noticed Sherlock was staring at him. He blinked twice

“Alright?”

“No.” was Sherlock’s response, and John felt his heart sink. Did he do something wrong? Was he not what Sherlock wanted? He knew he wanted Sherlock, wait, did he? Should he- his thoughts were cut off as his roommate striding over, standing right in front of John, the cold counter pushed into his back uncomfortably.

John’s heart was racing. He looked up at the taller man, his breathing heavy. Sherlock smirked and placed a soft kiss on John’s lips

“You left too soon,” Was Sherlock’s response, his voice deep. John grinned and placed a kiss back on his roommate’s lips, not pulling away. John noticed how soft Sherlock’s lips were, the faint smell of his body wash, and how his body felt against John’s own. It was enough to make him dizzy.  He could’ve stayed there forever, but Sherlock’s phone went off. Stifling a groan, he checked the phone, his eyes widening, a grin appearing on his face

“Get your coat on, John.” He spoke, letting out a breathy laugh  “We’ve got a homicide on our hands.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Alright John?”

“Hm- oh, yeah Lestrade. ‘M fine.” John nodded, shaking his thoughts away, still trying to process this morning “You?”

“Am quite fine, ‘cept the dead body we’ve got about a metre away from us.”

“Mm.” was the only response John could stifle, getting distracted watching Sherlock with his pocket sized magnifying glass.

After about five minutes of analysing, he popped up and held out a piece of cloth, a hankerchief.

“This hanky,” He retorted, “is from whoever saw her last, have your forensics to a DNA test to see if any fingerprints or whatever they’re good for. It should be her brother’s originally, he’s a waiter at the restaurant off on Mayfair. His name is Derrick. Ask him about Daniel, he should tell you everything.”

“That’s it?” Lestrade muttered 

“Tell me, Lestrade, when was the last time you doubted me?”

“Good point. And if it’s  _ not _ her brothers-?”

“That’s where the fun comes into play,” Sherlock responded, a glimmer in his eyes. He almost hoped he was wrong sometimes, it led to more puzzling situations. “Next time, call me for a case that doesn’t take up mine and John’s time. Poor thing looks bored out of his mind.” 

John’s ears went pink as Lestrade glared back at Sherlock. John knew best not to intervene, but he couldn’t help feel like dead weight.

“I’ll call us a taxi, yeah?” Was all he could manage to say, making eye contact with Sherlock

“Not necessary. I had the one we brought here wait out front, knew this wouldn’t last long.” Sherlock turned on his heel, placing a hand on John’s shoulder and leading him to the taxi with him.

The taxi ride home was quiet, but a comfortable quiet. John found his hand slowly creeping to Sherlock’s thigh, just letting it rest there. He felt the man’s muscles tense, before relaxing and placing his hand on top of John’s, a pleased smirk appearing on his face.

  
  
  
  


Arriving home, they both set up the stairs, Sherlock in front of John, both taking the steps two by two. John sat down on his chair, opening up his laptop and clacking away; Sherlock went to his microscope, looking at pieces of dandruff he’d confiscated from the crime scene. They both worked on their own projects in silence, just enjoying existing in the same room, and breathing in the same air. 

When John got up to get himself a drink, he kissed Sherlock on his cheek. It was a bit more awkward than anticipated, because Sherlock couldn’t tell what was happening, and kept tilting his head away. John slouched, half hugging Sherlock from behind the dining room chair, his arms hanging down from the taller man’s shoulders, placing his hands on his roommate’s stomach.

Sherlock stopped writing down notes to look down at John’s hands, the corner of his lips curling up ever so slightly. John placed another kiss on the man’s cheekbone, letting out a soft hum in doing so. 

“Can you do me a favour?” John murmured in Sherlock’s ear, his voice raspy. It sent a shiver down Sherlock’s spine.

“Can’t it wait John, I’m quite busy.”

“It’s  _ urgent _ .” He mumbled in response, placing another kiss on his cheek. Sherlock sighed, his shoulders relaxing. John slowly trailed kisses down Sherlock’s cheek, jawline, and then neck, feeling a shudder take over the man’s body.

“John I-” He was cut off with a gasp, and John ever-so slightly sunk his teeth into Sherlock’s neck.

“Get those fucking fox bones out of my tea cupboard.” John muttered against the bite mark, placing one more kiss before pulling away and continuing to get himself a drink of water. Sherlock blinked. Without a word he got up, and removed the now clean fox bones from the cupboard he was storing them, placing them on the mantle next to the human skull.

John looked up from his laptop at Sherlock and winked when they made eye contact

“Cheers.” He retorted, the taller man responding with a squint, his eyes glazing over John, trying to figure what he’s trying to prove. And with that, they both went back to work, as if nothing happened. 

As the sun began to set, and Sherlock was long past working, John shut his laptop and plopped down on the sofa. He watched Sherlock crawl up to him and cuddle into his chest.

“Should we get takeaway for dinner?” John mumbled, putting his arm around Sherlock.

“Don’t care, not hungry.” He muttered into John’s chest, pulling at the pills of yarn from the shorter man’s jumper.

“Right then,” John stiffened up, pushing Sherlock off him, only to find an offended look on his face “Don’t give me that look. No food, no hugs.”

“That’s never been a rule.”

“Is now.”

Sherlock glared at John for a moment, before opening his phone and ordering Indian takeaway for the both of them. John grinned, thinking he was the victor.

 

Sherlock answered the door, grabbing the food and slamming it a little too hard in the delivery boy’s face. John winced, hoping he at least gave the poor kid a tip. They both sat cross-legged on the sofa, facing each other, eating their takeaway in comfortable silence.

“You got a little-” John motioned to the corner of Sherlock’s lip, where a small spot of curry sauce lingered. Sherlock smirked

“Could you get it for me?” 

“Wh- I mean, sure. Yeah. C’mere” He set his now empty tray of rice and korma on the coffee table, as Sherlock did the same with his, crawling over to John.

John thought he was being coy by licking Sherlock’s lips before kissing him, but then realised. Something was burning.

“What the fuck  _ was _ that?” He gasped, pushing Sherlock away, sipping water quickly.

“Vindaloo, why?” He acted clueless.

“You absolute monster, I hate you.” John groaned, doing his best to slap the man’s shoulder “Wipe that smug grin off your face, you won.”

Sherlock chuckled, crawling back to his original spot, this time facing the television.

“Can’t believe you.” was all John could say, waiting for the burning sensation on his lips and roof of his mouth to fade away.

Sherlock turned the television on this time, flicking the channel til he found something for the both of them to watch. He found himself scooting closer to John, wiggling against him and resting his head on his shoulder, a wordless apology. John let out a sigh and put his arm around the man, kissing the top of his forehead before he settled down. He knew he couldn’t stay mad at him forever, and it was quite genius payback for the fox bones. 

After about half an hour of television, John felt Sherlock fidget. It was quite common for him to get antsy whilst watching, he merely did it to be closer to John. John looked over and saw the taller man sit up, and before he could ask, he felt their faces crashing together, noses bumping a little too hard.

John flinched back, laughing and holding his nose.

“Warn me next time, yeah?” He put his hand under a disappointed Sherlock’s chin, tilting his head up; and placed a soft kiss on his lips, smiling into the kiss.

Sherlock hummed, licking John’s lips, which took him off guard, and had to hold back releasing the smallest of moans. He opened his mouth, allowing Sherlock to slide his tongue in, tasting the leftover curry in his saliva, letting out a very, very quiet moan.

John shifted, laying down so his head was on the base of the sofa arm, pulling Sherlock on top of him, wrapping his arms around his neck, kissing him again. Time stood still for both of them, as they explored each other’s mouths, as an all too familiar heat started to pool at John’s crotch. 

Woah.

John pulled back, turning his head to the side, staring at the TV, trying his best to focus not getting aroused from this situation. But Sherlock was _ right there _ .

Sherlock looked at him quizzically 

“Is something wrong?” He had a very faint frown on his face, he’d grown to be rather fond of these kisses.

“No , ‘ts fine just.. Need a breather. Heh.”

“Does this have to do with my erection?”

“What do you- oh.” John looked down, and saw an all too familiar tent at Sherlock’s crotch. “No, not at all I uh- It’s about mine.” He let out an awkward laugh, making eye contact with Sherlock.

“I’m not all too familiar with this sensation, if I’m being honest, John,” Sherlock murmured, placing a kiss on his cheek “Might have to do some research on what to do in the future.”

“A wank always helps.” John teased, pulling him back down for another soft kiss. Sherlock almost collapsed on top of John, cuddling up on top of him. John let out a soft chuckle, trying to avoid the very clear erection Sherlock was pressing against him. John fidgeted his legs and hips slightly, and Sherlock gasped. 

“Hit a spot, did we?” John grinned, earning himself a groan in response. They laid there for the remainder of the night, til John kicked him off to go to bed.

“You sleep too much” Sherlock spoke, a frown on his face, sitting upright on the sofa now. 

“The average adult needs a minimum of seven hours of a sleep a day, you should consider trying it.” 

“Sleep slows me down.” John shrugs before bending over and placing a soft kiss on Sherlock’s forehead 

“G’night Sherlock.” He mumbled, before turning around and heading to bed, his heart still racing.

As he laid there in his pyjamas, his back facing the door; he stared at the wall, thinking. It was obvious whatever he and Sherlock had was sprouting into something more… domestic. And he didn’t know how to process it. He feared mentioning it would make things awkward between them. As he laid there, lost in thought, he heard his door open softly. He thought he just managed to close his door wrong, but soon he felt someone lay down on the opposite side of him, the mattress sinking with the weight. He felt them scoot closer and wrap an arm around John’s waist.

John let out a sigh and fell asleep, feeling at ease in their arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I have like 33 pages of work typed up on google docs and i'm trying to split it up and make it cohesive. I'd really like to update it more, because I've written a LOT. but I gotta make sure I know where the story's going blah blah
> 
> also I have no idea what the ratings are and I think I might need to change it to mature after posting this chapter, if anyone has any tips lmk!


	7. Chapter 7

 

He woke up by himself, the other half of the bed beside him cold.  _ How long has Sherlock been gone? _ He wondered _ Did I dream it? _

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and slowly got out of bed, dreading to leave his cozy little bundle of blankets and sheets. Groggy eyed, he wondered out the door, straight to the kitchen to make his daily morning tea. 

“Don’t bother” came a voice behind him, making him jump.

“I’m sorry?” Sherlock nodded his head in the direction to the table next to John’s chair, a cup of tea already made, the steam whirling in the air. It was just made.

“You never make the tea, what’s wrong with you?” John said with a chuckle, before seeing a displeasing look on Sherlock’s face.

He leaned up and kissed Sherlock softly on the corner of his mouth

“Thank you,” He mumbled into Sherlock’s small grin, kissing him one more time before settling down and reading his newspaper.

“I need to go to Barts today.” Sherlock stated, still standing where John left him

“Right, have fun.” John mumbled, furrowing his brow at today’s title.

“I’ll be gone for hours and hours, might not make it back in time for dinner.”

“Alright, text me if you need anything”

“....I won’t.” He said matter-of-factly “Very important deductions need to be done.”

“O-kay… Why are you telling me this?” 

“Just in case you miss me. I won’t be around for snog sessions if I’m in the morgue, and I’ll have nobody to talk to besides Molly and you know how she can get.”

John sighed, making eye contact with him.

“Do you want me to come with you?” He muttered, giving Sherlock an unamused look. He only nodded, a bit too eager.

“When are you leaving?” He responded with a sigh, folding up his newspaper.

“Three minutes.”

“Christ, cutting it a bit tight aren’t you?”

“It’s not my fault you’ve been unconscious. Last time I tried to wake you, you nearly strangled me.”

“You should know better than waking up an ex military man at four o’clock in the morning to look at the amputated toes you covered in salt to see if they would mummify.” Sherlock didn’t respond, just rolled his eyes as John got up and quickly got dressed.

 

\---

  
  


St. Bartholomew’s was always colder than John remembered, as he sat down on a stool in the laboratory Sherlock was in. It always reminded him of training here for his university courses, which was a bittersweet memory to say the least. He was analysing platelets of one of the recently passed clients or something, John wasn’t bothered to ask, for Sherlock was too engrossed to answer him.

Molly came in the room, beaming at Sherlock, and then realised they weren’t alone, resulting in an awkward wave to John.

“Hiya Molly.” John said with a soft grin 

“John hi, how are you?” 

“Better than most days, yourself?”

“Quite fine, actually.” She tied her hair back, peeking over at Sherlock was doing.

“John, can you-” Sherlock asked, looking up from his microscope, seeing Molly, “When did you walk in?”

“Oh just a moment ago.” She mumbled, looking around for her papers as John got off his chair and stood behind Sherlock. He placed his hand on the lower half of Sherlock’s back as he leaned over to see what he was doing

“I can’t read what you’ve written. At all.” John murmured, squinting at the taller man’s chicken-scratch. 

“Clearly your eyes need testing, this is immaculate handwriting, looks almost like it was typed.” Sherlock says with a smug smile on his face.

“Maybe you’re the one who needs his eyes tested,” John replies with a chuckle, looking up at Sherlock only breaking away from their eye contact when he heard a cough. Right, Molly was still here. John stood away from Sherlock, looking around at the things on the counters, from cotton swabs to test tubes. 

“Sherlock I was wondering if you would be interested in going out to dinner some time.” Molly mumbled

“I can’t I’m busy that day-”

“I didn’t say when.” She said, her voice sounding hollow.

“Right, sorry about that. Guess it’s a no, then. John.” Sherlock straightened himself, motioning John to follow him out the door, and he did just so, leaving Molly staring at the floor, trying to wrap her head around what just happened. 

 

“You really should’ve listened to Molly more carefully, Sherlock, you’ve upset her.” John stated as the door closed behind them, trying his best to keep up with the longer strides Sherlock was producing.

“But I didn’t want her to think I was interested, John. It’s not my fault she was so boring and plain with her word choice.” 

“I get that, sort of, but you need to let people, especially friends, down more easily.”

“But why? I want the world to know I’m not available.” He stated in a matter-of-fact manor, opening the door to the room with the rows of cold lockers. John followed in suite, closing the door behind them.

“Not.. available?”

“I was assuming given our recent development into a relationship it was exclusive, was I incorrect?” Sherlock spoke, pulling out one of the bodies from the lockers, examining it for a moment, and shutting it right away.

“It’s not just something you assume is happening, we need a mutual agreement on these sort of things, y’know, so we’re on the same page.”

“Well, I’m not seeing anyone else, and neither are you, what seems to be the issue?” There was a twinge of sadness in his voice

“Sherlock…” John sighed, walking up to him, facing him; placing a hand on his cheek- stroking a thumb across his cheekbone. “I would just like to be on the same wavelength with you, I’d love to be with you, you know that right?”

“John…” Sherlock mumbled, placing a kiss on his partner’s forehead, pulling John’s hand away from his face “It’s very improper of you to be attempting to snog me in front of a corpse.” 

“Then why the fuck am I even here?” He murmured in response, pretending to sound fed up.

“Because people are supposed to support their significant other, even with the most mundane tasks.”

“Does this mean I can change my Facebook status?” He teased, taking a seat near the door, watching Sherlock. He simply grunted in response.

 

“I’m going to get a coffee,” John eventually spoke, feeling his pockets for his wallet “Fancy anything?”

Sherlock grunted in response, fiddling with the fingers of the corpse.

“Be back in a mo’.” And with that, John got up and walked down to the canteen, making himself a coffee in a styrofoam cup and paying the worker with a faint smile. He bumped into Mike, drinking his coffee and catching up with him. 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to ever thank you enough for walking through that park” John said with a hearty laugh, for they always got to the topic to Sherlock and the schemes he was up to.

“How is the sorry bastard anyway?”

“He’s uh… Good. Tried to make his own pickling for a body part he’s left in the freezer for about a month, ended up turning the skin green.”

“How the hell-”

“Don’t ask,” John shifted in his seat, making a face “Can I tell you something?”

“Hm?”

“Sherlock and I, well, we’re partners.”

“I know that,” Mike chuckled, expecting something much worse “Always working on those cases together, the blogger and detective running amuck and solving crime in London.”

“No, Mike,” He lowered his voice “He’s my  _ partner _ .”

Mike nearly dropped the cup of coffee he was holding, gasping.

“Oh congratulations! Since when?” John glanced at his watch-

“Seventeen minutes ago.”

Mike responded with a chuckle, rambling on about he’d have to thank him for the rest of life for setting them up.

 

After a while of catching up, Mike had to get back to work, so John decided to doddle on back to the room John was in- taking his time. When he opened the door, Sherlock was sitting down on a stool, staring at the wall, deep in thought. John closed the door behind him quietly and sat back down on the stool he originally claimed. Sherlock glanced over at his direction, looking him up and down.

“Hows the uh…” John broke the silence, gesturing aimlessly to the cold lockers.

“Much more dull than expected. Care to join me for lunch?”

“What, now?” John blinked, quite surprised.

“No, John, in three weeks time.” Sherlock rolled his eyes

“What happened to you needing to spend  _ all day _ here?”

“It turns out I’m far more smarter than I realised, and figured out exactly what I needed to before the allotted time expired.”

“You just wanted me to be here, didn’t you?”

“Is it a crime to want my boyfriend to join me?” He buttoned up his coat and fixed his scarf, looking up at John.

“‘Spose not.” The word  _ boyfriend  _ echoed in John’s head. He quite liked the sound of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was kinda dialouge heavy! Wish my chapters were more synchronised in length, but I wrote it and now im dividing! oopsie!  
>  Thanks for reading


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ones a little bit longer than i planned, but i felt like the two scenes separated would be too short!

They made it to a Costa’s up the road away from Barts, and they both sat down at a table, waiting for their drinks and sandwiches. John rested his elbow on the table, placing his hand in his open palm, losing himself in Sherlock’s eyes as he rambled on about the white blood cell count variables in different illness cases.

“John.”

“Sherlock.” He murmured.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Jus’ lost myself in your words.”

“You’d think as a doctor this would intere-” 

“You have beautiful eyes.” John spoke, not bothering to wait for Sherlock to continue his complaining.

“Thank you, I’ll let my mother know her genetic concoction that created me is deemed acceptable by my boyfriend.”

“Can’t you just take the compliment?” John chuckled, straightening himself as the barista called out their drinks, and he got up to get the tray with their lunch. 

Setting it down on the table, he sat down and took his panini and coffee off the tray and in front of himself. Sherlock does the same, picking up a couple packets of sugar, holding them by the end and shaking them- before ripping them at once and dumping the crystals into his cup of coffee.

They sat there, eating in comfortable silence, until Sherlock tapped John’s shin with his shoe. John quirked an eyebrow in response, a confused look on his face. Sherlock nodded in direction of a woman, on the phone, looking quite frantic.

“What’s the deal?”

“Her husband’s just found out she’s cheating on him with a woman.” He spoke in a hushed voice.

“Sherlock, as great it is that you can deduce that and figure that out, sometimes it’s best to keep your nose out of things.” John sighed.

“But isn’t it such a fun game?”

“Just..” John pinched his nose bridge, “Go on, then. Tell me how you figured it out.”

Sherlock ranted, his voice almost a whisper, explaining every detail from the clipped nails to the missing wedding ring. 

“And if you look at her hairline…”

“You eavesdropped, didn’t you?” Was all John could respond with.

“How dare you imply I eavesdropped?”

“Sherlock.. I can hear her from here. You don’t have to pretend to deduce someone to impress me.”

“But I-”

“Enjoy the compliments, I know. But I’m afraid, you beautiful, beautiful genius, have gotten caught,” John reached over and placed a hand on Sherlock’s, realising Sherlock looked quite mortified. “Show me what you got.” He continued, nodding in the direction of the man sitting in the booth by himself.

“Simple. He’s got a smoking addict, but the person he’s meeting doesn’t know. You can see by the way he keeps smelling his left hand and jumper. He thinks he’s being subtle, but he’s obviously stoned. Shoes are expensive but old, jumper has multiple holes in it from being washed over and over. Used to be well put together, until something happened, probably a breakup given how anxious he is for meeting this person- first date, maybe. Quit his day job to become a musician, hence the calluses on his hand- why are you looking at me like that?” Sherlock blinked, realising John was staring at him, an enchanted look on his face.

“Brilliant.”

“John it’s simple observations, really, I could do much bet-”

“Brill-i-ant,” John repeated with emphasis, pushing the syllables in the word further apart. “My genius boyfriend is brilliant.”

Sherlock hummed in response, standing up, and motioning John to follow him as he strode out of the cafe; in the freezing London air. John held Sherlock’s hand, bringing to his own mouth to plant a soft kiss on the back of his partner’s palm. As Sherlock held his hand out for a taxi, John glanced up at him, focusing on the way Sherlock’s curls fell on his face, the damp humidity making him a little frizzy. He couldn’t help but fantasise about running his fingers through that hair, maybe tugging it a little. Or a lot. He laughed to himself silently, as Sherlock tugged him into the taxi and back home they went.

 

\---

 

As they arrived home, Sherlock kicked his shoes off and hung his coat up quicker than usual, and went to opening John’s laptop, sitting down in his armchair. 

“Sherlock you can’t just-” John groaned, still in the process of tugging his left shoe off.

“I’m busy, John.” Sherlock shooed him away, tapping away quickly at  _ his _ laptop. 

John sighed, knowing he would get further arguing with a brick wall. He picked up a book he’d been reading, and walked to his room.

Sitting up in bed, his pillows supporting his back, he began to read. But he couldn’t help his brain from wandering. All he could think about was Sherlock. The way his nose crinkled when he laughed a little too much, or how he swayed when he played the violin, his slender fingers slightly moving back and forth, dancing from each note.  _ God  _ he could make that instrument sing. The way the music took his body over, his eyes shut, letting out a groan when he missed a note. 

John shook his thoughts away, trying his best to focus on his book. But soon enough, those thoughts of Sherlock began to crawl back, overwhelming John. He put his book down, stood up with a huff, and bolted out the door.

He stood in front of Sherlock, waiting a moment to see if he’d notice. He didn’t. John closed the laptop, yanking it away from Sherlock’s hands.

“John I was using that-” Sherlock whinged as his partner tossed it onto the nearby sofa.

“Don’t care.” was all John could respond, before grabbing the fabric of Sherlock’s shirt and pulling him into a passionate kiss. The position was awkward, John hunched over and Sherlock sitting down, not sure where to put his hands. When John pulled back, he look Sherlock in the eyes, his breathing heavy.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Sherlock murmured, reading John’s expression as he put his hands on the shorter man’s hips, pulling him into his lap. John let out a yelp, his thighs stuck between Sherlock’s and the arm of the chair; a tight fit nonetheless.

Sherlock licked his lips and kissed John again, as John entangled his fingers in Sherlock’s dark brown curls. The kissing was sloppy, but in a good way, as if John and Sherlock didn’t care. It wasn’t until Sherlock’s hands started creeping up the back of John’s shirt, that John froze and pulled back immediately.

“Could you..” John muttered “maybe not do that?” Sherlock had a very confused look on his face

“But why?” He retracted his hands quite reluctantly.

“Its.. complicated.” John shook his head and tried to go back into the kissing, but Sherlock put a finger up to his partner’s lips, stopping John from being able to kiss him.

“You’re insecure.”

“That’s a blunt way of putting it.” He mumbled under his breath, looking at the wall behind Sherlock.

“John,” Sherlock mumbled, placing a soft kiss on John’s neck “I don’t know if you realised, but my flustered actions around you started to occur after I walked in on you shirtless.” John blinked, startled.

“What are you getting at?” He sighed, as Sherlock placed another soft kiss on his neck.

“I’m implying that your upper body, with broad shoulders and gorgeous arms, turned me into a flustered heap. A feeling I very rarely feel. I spent those nights fantasising about feeling your muscles in your arms, grazing my fingers against your chest, just aching for some form of physical contact between you and I. And all it took was one glance at what hid underneath your ugly jumpers and cardigans.”

“You had me up until you called my fashion sense ugly.” John chuckled slightly, making eye contact with Sherlock. Sherlock smirked, giving John a soft kiss. 

“Did I kill the mood?” He murmured against John’s lips, kissing him again.

“You’d have to try harder than that.”

“Is that a challenge?” John felt Sherlock grin against his lips after he spoke, kissing him with more passion this time.

“Git.” John breathed, entangling his fingers in his partner’s curls once again, kissing him with an open, wet kiss. Sherlock placed his hands on John’s lower back, this time on the outside, for fear of upsetting John again. He wanted to remember this feeling, of John on top of him, kissing him, for the rest of his life.

John pulled back from the kiss, his lips wet and slightly swollen pink, to trail kisses down Sherlock’s neck. He found a spot right in the middle, and starting sucking, first softly, than quite intensely, biting down and licking his tongue over the newly formed bruise. He pulled back with a soft hum, admiring his work, Sherlock letting out what could only be described as a whine when he stopped.

“Are the love marks really that necessary?” Sherlock breathed heavily, trying to act nonchalant like it wasn’t the most arousing that had happened to him. John grinned and placed a kiss over the mark again, sending a shiver down Sherlock’s spine.

“Love  _ mark _ , Sherlock. Unless you want another one, that is,” John teased, planting another kiss on Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock’s eyes widened at the thought of it. 

“Can I give it a try?” Was all he could muster in response

“What, give me a hickey?”

“What else, John?” John chuckled at his attitude

“You get huffy when you’re horny. I’d say yes but work might get upset if I showed up with a brui- oh…” His voice trailed off as Sherlock’s lips met his neck, kissing and sucking, mimicking John’s past movements. John bit his lip, pulling at Sherlock’s hair ever so slightly. When the detective released, there was a dark reddish-purple bruise. He examined it closely as John calmed down, planting another kiss on the sensitive skin. John rested his head on Sherlock’s shoulder, awkwardly pawing at his own erection, trying to get it to calm down.

“There’s no use in hiding your arousal, John.” Sherlock smirked to himself. “Erections are completely normal through enjoyable experiences. It’s an evolutionary thing, to prepare us for reproduction. Otherwise we’d be hard all the time, just walking around with our penises ready for-”

“For the love of God, Sherlock, only you could make me having a boner sound so  _ boring _ .” John picked his head off Sherlock’s shoulder “As much as I love sitting like this with you under me, I think my feet will fall off if I stay in this position for any longer.” He placed a lingering kiss on the corner of Sherlock’s mouth, before standing up with a groan, one of his knees cracking.

Sherlock was not happy.

“What?”

No response.

“Sherlock I- oh my god. I wasn’t done with you, I just needed a stretch. I’m not as young as I used to be, y’know.”

Still no response.

“Look, if you’re going to throw a fit I can go back to reading my book-” Sherlock stood up in a hurry, walking up to John and kissing him and pushing him up against the wall, holding his hands above his head, pinning his partner down. If Sherlock didn’t have such a strong hold on him, he most likely would have fallen over with the sudden movements. 

John let out a moan, his hands squirming. He needed to touch Sherlock, to feel his body, and he couldn’t. It was driving him insane. Sherlock’s tongue was darting into John’s mouth, stifling his own moan as well. When he pulled back, his eyes full of desire, breathing heavy, John looked right back at him, eyes dilated.  Suddenly Sherlock let out a groan as he released John’s arms.

“GO away!” He yelled, and John felt his heart sink- had he done something wrong? 

“Okay okay... I’ll just-” John sounded sheepish, his heart sinking, as he scoots sideways away from Sherlock.

“Not you, John.” He mumbled, and there was a knock on the door. Three taps, done with almost  _ too _ much precision. 

“Do open the door, brother dear.” Was heard through the door. Mycroft. John blinked, his face the colour of what could only be described as fuschia. 

“I’m BUSY. Come back later.”

“We have pressing matters to talk about, Sherlock. Open this door.”

“I’d rather die, thanks.” Sherlock looked  _ very  _ unhappy, his face scowling and his shoulders tense.

“I’ll just-” John whispered as he gestured his thumbs to the kitchen, sneaking off to put the kettle on.

“Sherlock, please open the door. You know I hate asking twice.” The door handle rattled with Mycroft’s response. Sherlock huffed, and unlocked the door, swinging it open.

“You best have a good excuse.” He grumbled. 

“Hiya Mycroft,” John called from the kitchen “Making a cuppa, fancy one?”

“Hi John that’s quite…” He paused, glancing at Sherlock’s neck, eyeing the love mark “Alright.”

Sherlock’s face was bright red as John scampered off to his room, mug of tea in hand, to continue reading his book. As much as they both hated Mycroft, John was really the only one who could get away with avoiding him. 

As he sat down, continuing to read his book yet again, he heard muffled yelling and what sounded like broken china.  _ Ah, brotherly love _ , he sighed.

After he heard the front door slam, John heard his own door open, followed by a fuming Sherlock. He plopped himself on John’s mattress, face down, and groaned. John ruffled his partner’s hair, chuckling softly.

“He’s your brother, Sherlock,” John mumbled “You have to at least pretend to like him.” 

Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows, looking at John.

“And what if I don’t want to?”

“Then I’m sure he’ll issue a warrant for your arrest.”

“Could be worse, I suppose,” He let out an exasperated sigh, rolling over, his back now on the mattress “I’d look quite good in a prison jumpsuit.” John chuckled, turning the page in his book.

“Mycroft is convinced you’re trying to murder me as well.” Sherlock muttered, glaring at the ceiling.

“Tell Mycroft I’d sooner murder him than you.” 

“How calming, dear Watson.” Sherlock snorted in response. “Fancy dinner?”

“Am alright, actually. Had a big lunch not too long ago. We can get something to eat though, if you’re hungry. I was planning on making chicken parm tonight, if you fancy it.” 

Sherlock made a face, shaking his head.

“Why’d you offer if you aren’t hungry?” 

“I was debating whether or not we could go out for dinner.” 

“What, two dates in one day?” John chuckled, licking his finger and turning the page.

“Isn’t that what boyfriends do?”

“Well, yeah, but we don’t have to go out together for every single meal, every single second of the day,” Sherlock huffed, but John continued “Also, you don’t have to force yourself into situations you’re uncomfortable with to make me happy.”

“I thought relationships involved compromises.” Sherlock huffed, crawling himself into the space next to John, sitting down next to him, trying to read over his shoulder.

“You staring awkwardly at me across the dinner table at Angelo’s is not a compromise I’m comfortable with.” John mumbled, as he leaned his head onto Sherlock’s chest, snuggling up and continuing to read. 

They spent their evening just there, in John’s bed, relishing in the laziness of it all. Sherlock would occasionally mutter spoilers in John’s ear when he looked up from his mobile and read the page. ‘ _ Very important deductions _ ’ were being done on Sherlock’s mobile- and by that, he means playing Candy Crush. As John’s book started to get more dull, the suspense really having no effect on him, he ended up falling asleep on Sherlock’s chest. 

“John I-” Sherlock started, before he noticed John was out cold. Sherlock pursed his lips, before relaxing his shoulders and wrapping his arms around John. Maybe tonight, just tonight, he’d sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i call this chapter "im not ready to write smut yet so uh.... *spins wheel* Mycroft barges in"


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i released a chapter less than 24 hours ago but im writing ahead and i just got to a /really/ good part. bit short, i know.

John woke up to that monotonous beeping of an alarm, followed by a ‘Shut that thing off.’ grunted by his.. Pillow?

John rubbed his eyes, sitting up and reaching over to hit the orange ‘STOP’ button on his phone. He blinked and suddenly realised he was asleep curled up against Sherlock, his eyes still closed. John couldn’t help but grin as he placed a kiss on Sherlock’s cheek before getting out of bed, about to head to the kitchen.

“Come back,” Sherlock called out as John reached for the door handle, his eyes still closed.

“Can’t, got work today. Gotta make breakfast.” John rubbed the back of his head, suddenly realising he slept in the jeans he planned on wearing today. Sherlock huffed, opening his eyes and sitting up, arching his back and stretching, his hair disheveled and dress shirt wrinkled from where John rested his head. He let out a yawn and got up, following John out, clearly sulking.

John hummed as he made the tea, dancing around the kitchen, avoiding certain puddles of who knows what that Sherlock forgot to mop up. As he poured the tea, he felt Sherlock’s long arms wrap around his hips, placing a kiss on John’s neck.

“Sherlock, maybe don’t try to distract me as I’m pouring boiling water. Just an idea.” John chuckled, poking the two tea bags up and down in the water, watching the water turn darker.

“What are you going to do…” Sherlock placed another kiss on John’s neck, licking over the bruise he made “About this.” John shuddered.

“Wear a turtleneck, I s’pose. It is pretty chilly.”

“But the only turtleneck you have is that horrid olive green one-”

“ _ Hey, _ I like that shirt.” John tried to pry Sherlock’s hands off his hips, but his partner was holding onto him for dear life. 

“Why don’t you show it off?” Sherlock’s voice was deep and raspy, clearly trying to seduce John. Too early for that.

“I’m not getting fired from my job because you gave me a hickey. Are you going to let me make my toast or will I have to starve during my shift?”

“Better idea: you quit so you can come back to bed.” He placed another kiss on John’s neck, his lips lingering. “Your job’s no mundane and  _ boring _ , and your mind and body could be put to so many more better things. Like kissing me.”

“Kissing won’t pay the bills. Well…” He chuckled “Maybe not if I was kissing you.” John murmured, starting to make his toast

“Hmm, an interesting business proposal. You could open a kissing booth at a fair. Too bad I’d rob Mycroft and spend all his money on kissing you.”

  
“Now _that’s_ an idea” John smiled, “Y’know, we could _just_ rob Mycroft, and you could get all the kisses for free.”

“You’re evil, however, my dear Watson, how will we write it off in our taxes? There’s no  _ brother robbery  _ option. If you ran your own kissing business, we’d be laughing.” Sherlock kissed his cheek before pulling away with the  _ ding  _ of the toaster. John chuckled, buttering it and adding some marmalade; taking a bite. But then, he checked the time-

“Shit, I’m going to be late,” And with the toast still in his mouth, he scurried off to his room to get dressed. He emerged from his room, clad in his olive green turtleneck and grey slacks, his belt and trousers unbuttoned as he tucked it in on his way to the door. He slipped his shoes on, did his belt up, and grabbed his coat. 

“Oh! Almost forgot-” He turned around, placed a kiss on Sherlock’s cheek, “Bye, love.”

Sherlock’s cheeks were bright pink by the time John had headed out the door into the crisp London air, heading to work, a little pep in his step.

  
  


John’s work day was full of dull examinations, most people worried they had caught a case of strep throat, which seemed to be going around. Being a general practitioner wasn’t  _ that  _ bad, but it was boring. John found himself tapping his pen on his clipboard, keeping in time with the clock. As he sat in the breakroom, eating a granola bar he’d found in his desk drawer, he noticed Sarah walking up to him.

“John, hi!” She beamed, immediately taking the seat in front of him, the legs on the chair making a rather harsh sound on the linoleum.

“Sarah, alright?”

“Yeah, and you?” John only nodded in response, letting out a little  _ mm. _

“Been a minute since we last chatted, hasn’t it?”

“Sorry,” He let out a breathy laugh “been quite busy.”

“Is that Sherlock fella keeping you on your toes?”

“In some ways more than one,” He beamed as a fond memory of trying to kiss Sherlock, straining his peroneal tendon from the excessive amount of tippy-toes “How’s about you? Been up to much?”

Their conversation was mundane, never too exciting. Sarah kept dragging it out, but John just wanted to pull his mobile out and text Sherlock.

“Oop shit, sorry Sarah, my lunch is over I better get going,” He stood up, dusting the few crumbs off his trousers “Catch you around, yeah?” She nodded and waved goodbye as John headed to his office, waiting to be told when his next patient was ready to be checked over.

As John filled out some of his usual paperwork, his phone buzzed. He pulled his phone out to see a plethora of messages from Sherlock he had missed, from asking him when he’d be home to how he should walk out and  _ stick it to the man.  _  Sighing, John unlocked his phone, tapping out a message:

_ You’re paying my phone bill this month. _

 

_ Lestrade has gotten me another case, might not be home when you’re off. - SH _

_ You should  _ really  _ consider walking out. - SH _

 

_ What’s the case this time? _

 

_ Lobotomy patient. - SH _

 

_ Christ, what happened? _

 

_ Bit hard to explain over text, see you when I’m done. Don’t wait up for me. -SH _

 

John sighed,  _ Great _ , now he had nothing to look forward to. The day lulled on, and John found himself going home, not really looking forward to spending the night alone.

He made himself pasta for tea, sitting on the sofa as he read his book. He almost expected Sherlock to murmur in his ear another spoiler. Nothing. As the clock droned by, he checked his blog and responded to a few comments, and deleting the hateful ones. As he shut his laptop, decided it would be best to call an early night, so off he went to his room and got ready for bed. As he tucked himself in under the covered, he checked his phone for any messages, and he had none. He double checked his alarm was on, and as he rolled over, he fell asleep into a dreamless sleep.

In the middle of the night, John woke up to a pair of arms wrapping around his waist. In a panic, he jutted his elbow into the gut of the person behind him, resulting in a very large groan.

“That’s not the best way to be greeted,” Sherlock wheezed, the air knocked out of him, as John’s eyes widened and he flipped over.

“You madman, sneaking up on an ex-military man. You had it coming.” He grumbled, placing a hand softly on Sherlock’s stomach where his elbow had hit. “I’m sorry, how was the case?”

“Still at large.” Sherlock murmured, wrapping his arms around John and pulling him closer, still trying to catch his breath.

“Shouldn’t you be sitting on the sofa, staring at pieces of paper, trying to figure out who this… this Lobotomy Looney is?”

“Is it a crime for me to join my partner in bed for fifteen minutes after not seeing him for nearly fourteen hours?”

“Don’t let your infatuation for me stop you from saving the world, love.” John’s eyelids felt heavy, breathing in Sherlock’s smell. His cologne lingered, but mixed with his musk. He felt safe. 

“That’s mighty high of you to assume that not only a homicidal maniac in London could affect the world’s distress, but also that you could stop me from being the hero I am.” But John wasn’t listening, he was fast asleep. Sherlock let out a sigh and placed a kiss on the top of his partner’s head, his own mind racing with the case, but more importantly: John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter gets a lil saucy ;) just u wait  
> might actually have to change the rating


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooookay gets a little saucy here  
> mentions of lobotomies (scientific words, no gore, no descriptions. very basic, almost brushed over. just a heads up!)

John woke up before his alarm, his head still buried into Sherlock’s chest, the taller man on his back. He looked up at him, letting out a wistful sigh.

“Stop thinking so loud, it’s waking me up.” Sherlock grumbled, his eyes still shut.

“Fell asleep again did we?”

“Couldn’t help it, you’re like a personal radiator and it’s _fucking_ freezing.” Sherlock opened one eye, saw John was staring at him, and quickly shut it. “Still asleep, don’t bother.” He had the faintest grin on his face as he tightened his arms around John.

“You going to be out with Lestrade again tonight?” John mumbled, tracing circles on his partner’s chest through his shirt.

“Quite possibly. I need to find out where the killer left the ice pick, which involves going around and searching gardens in a 5 kilometer radius to the scene of the murder, which was not where the body was found, but until Scotland Yard finds the true crime scene, I’m bored at home. Apparently my last intrusion onto private property got them into a lot of trouble.”

“Sometimes I wish I could understand your brain, for just five minutes, to understand what the ever-loving fuck a garden has to do with a lobotomy.”

“I just said that I-” Sherlock was cut off by John getting up, swinging one of his legs over Sherlock’s hips, putting himself in a pseudo-push up position above him, his baggy t shirt hanging down, and his partner couldn’t help put place his hands on John’s bare hips. John did his best to ignore the euphoric sensation of Sherlock’s slender hands touching his bare skin.

John leaned down and gave Sherlock a kiss, starting off sweet, with soft pecks, but picking up the pace, licking Sherlock’s lips as his partner let out a very subtle moan. Sherlock found his hands slowly creeping up John’s back, under his shirt. As John sucked on Sherlock’s bottom lip, Sherlock dug his nails into the flesh of Sherlock’s back, trying his best to contain another moan.

John pulled back, taking his own shirt off and tossing it to the side, and then placing wet kisses to his partner’s neck, leaving yet another love mark.

“John dont you- Ah! Have to get ready for work?” Sherlock was bright red, rubbing his hands up and down John’s back, very much enjoying the feeling of John’s muscles, pleasure overriding his body. He wasn’t sure what to do as he lost control of handling his feelings, his body just kinda… reacting.

“Are- are you ok?” John pulled back, sitting up on his knees, stretching his back and looking down at Sherlock with a quizzical look. Sherlock blinked, examining John’s shirtless body. He was fixated on the way his partner’s muscles flexed with movements.

“Gorgeous…” Was all he mumbled, his eyes now fixed on John’s hairy chest.

“Sorry?”

“John. Would you be okay if we switched positions?” He asked, acting like nothing just happened.

“I er… sure?” His partner got off and laid down on the bed, laughing slightly as his lanky boyfriend awkwardly clambered on top of him, sitting down on his groin. Sherlock was in a loose v neck, and he awkwardly took his shirt off, throwing it off the bed. His body was thin, his hip and collar bones jutting out and the only patch of hair surrounded his navel, trickling down to his crotch. With his heavy breathing, John noticed his skin stretching over his ribs, exposing them a bit more. And John fell even more in love.

Sherlock leaned down, planting a kiss on John’s lips, before pulling back and trailing kisses down his neck, chest and stomach, hell. His hands were exploring, feeling every inch of John’s chest, arms, and abdomen.

“Gorgeous,” Sherlock muttered between kisses “Absolutely breathtaking, and it’s mine.”

“Sherlock you don’t have to… do that.” John was staring at the ceiling, bright red, a very clear erection was kinda just… poking at Sherlock.

As Sherlock trailed his kisses back up, making eye contact with John, he leaned in for another kiss, but suddenly-

_Beep beep beep_

“John, can’t you get a better alarm tone that doesn’t make me want to shove a crochet needle up my nose and scoop my brains out?” Sherlock muttered, a very bothered expression on his face.

“You aren’t a mummy, dear.” John reached over to get his phone, pressing randomly on the screen til the annoying beeping stopped.

“I hope I’m not a daddy, either.”

“Be a bit of a surprise for both of us, might have to get rid of the dead badger you think you’re being slick with and hiding in the cooker. Very irresponsible parenting on your end.”

“I knew I should’ve snuck back into 221C.” He teased, planting another kiss on John’s lips, rolling his hips against John’s own.

“Sherlock, I- I have to go to work you can’t just-” Sherlock grinded, or tried to, once again. His movements were awkward, but that didn’t stop from John from enjoying it a _lot_. Any physical contact from Sherlock was good contact.

“Call off.”

“I can’t, I’ll run out of sick days for when I actually need. It’s a short shift today, just some paperwork and filing, boring computer stuff.”

“Well tell them,” Sherlock rolled his hips again, resulting in John groaning, “You’ll work from home. Your very _very_ ill partner needs you to keep him company in bed _all day,_ and you’ll have the paperwork in your boss’ inbox come tomorrow at noon.”

“Jesus Sherlock how long have you had tha-” He was cut off with Sherlock’s lips kissing him again, open and wet. John ran his fingers through Sherlock’s head, grabbing a hold of it gently, tugging ever so slightly as the kiss deepened. Sherlock pulled back again, as John let go of his hair. He placed kisses on John’s chest, biting, kissing, and sucking. John was a hot, moany mess, and Sherlock was on cloud nine. John flinched as his partner placed a kiss on his scar, and Sherlock froze.

“I didn’t step over any boundaries, did I?” Sherlock murmured into his partner’s skin, his breath hot again John’s skin; his fingers on John’s biceps as he gave them a light squeeze.

“Nono it-it’s fine, just maybe don’t focus on it too much?” John wishes it wasn’t there, that he wasn’t shirtless, and he was fully clothed with Sherlock on top of him, covering up 90 per cent of his body. Maybe he’d consider investing in a balaclava, or one of those togas he could use to hide every discernible feature on his body or he could-

Sherlock placed a soft kiss on the edge of the scar tissue, which stopped John from spiralling. He pulled away and went back to worshipping John’s skin, making sure to remember every millimetre of skin with or without hair, every freckle, every scar, every stretch mark. He wanted to know John like the back of his hand.

“Sherlock if we’re going to keep going I really should call and let them kn-”

“In a minute, John. I’m not done cataloging you.”

“Argos won’t be pleased.” John let out a breathy chuckle, followed by a gasp as Sherlock readjusted his hips, their erections bumping into each other like old friends at a shopping centre.

They got back to kissing, both clearly craving more. And suddenly, as if he was snogging a mind reader, John felt Sherlock’s long, slender hand gently cover his erection through the thin lining of his pyjama pants and cup it, just slightly. The feeling was _euphoric_. His hand moved up and down ever so slightly, and John let out a groan as a shiver when down his spine.

“You’re an absolute tease, you know that?” John laughed, tickled pink at the thought of Sherlock getting him off right then and now.

“I can stop if you like,” whispered Sherlock, his voice deep in John’s ear as he kissed his lobe, pulling on it slightly with his teeth.

“I dont… are we ready for this?” Sherlock blinked.

“Well, not only are you sporting an erection, I am too, implying we are both in the proper situation to-”

“Not physically, I meant on a relationship level. I didn’t want to rush into this kind of thing but _God,_ if it isn’t hard for me to just keep my bloody hands off of you.”

“It was happening to smoothly, John. If either of us was uncomfortable we could step back. I’m quite happy touching your erection, and you’re free to touch mine as well.”

“Remind me to not let you use the word erection _ever again._ ” John chuckled, until Sherlock found his hands creeping down John’s elastic on his pyjama bottoms, before the front door was heard being shut.

“Did you-”

“Mycroft?”

“It can’t be, I told him to never come back.”

“You threatened him with one of your swords, didn’t you?”

“There’s a possibility.” Sherlock went back to kissing John’s chest.

“Sherlo- We can’t just keep going, what if they hear us? What if they’re going to drug us and steal our kidneys?”

“They’ll have to pry me off you first.” He smirked, running his tongue over John’s nipple.

“Sherlock?” The voice sounded quite upset, but the call for Sherlock sounded more like a demand than anything

“Is that Lestrade?” John murmured, trying his best to push Sherlock off his chest. With a huff, Sherlock rolled off, and John picked up a shirt off the floor, putting it on and doing his best to run his fingers through his hair.

John walked out of his room, glancing over to see Lestrade standing in front of the door, looking around. When they made eye contact, Lestrade flinched.

“Christ mate, you startled me.”

“You startled me when you walked in without knocking,” John saw his reflection in the mirror above the mantle, and tried his best to flatten his bedhead “Tea, coffee?”

“Coffee, thanks.” John flicked the switch on the kettle, and opened up the tea cupboard, pulling out two mugs. He added a tea bag to one and a spoonful of instant coffee to the other.

“Is Sherlock here?” Lestrade spoke, leaning against the kitchen counter next to where John was waiting.

“Mm yeah, why? Need something?”

“He said he was on a stake last night and would be back the second the Yard opened the doors. Didn’t show, was worried he got hurt. Did he tell you about the-?” Lestrade poked angrily at his eye, gesturing a bit too enthusiastically

“The lobotomies? Yeah, grim stuff. What was this about him being on a stake out? He told me-”

“John I think you- Oh, right. That was why you left,” Sherlock walked out of John’s room, looking at Greg. The shirt he was wearing seemed to be too short and baggy on him, bearing his hips ever so slightly, clearly the wrong fit for his body type. Greg cocked an eyebrow, and glanced between John and Sherlock. He also noticed John’s was a bit tight around the arms. “Can I help you, Detective Inspector?”

“You’re wearing each other’s shirts, aren’t you?”

“Ah, I do believe we are.” The corner of Sherlock’s mouth quivered into a faint smirk.

“Is this why you decided to run off mid-crime scene?”

“To wear John’s shirt? Clearly not. Think harder than that, Detective. You do focus on reading behind the lines at your job, do you not?”

“You said you’d be able to figure out the lead over night, and be back at the Yard by sunrise,” Lestrade raised his voice, mumbling a _cheers_ to John as he took his coffee. “You better have a good excuse.”

“I needed to come home. To think. Y’know, mind palace and all. Open up a page or two on John’s laptop about Walter Freeman and Moniz, see if the pattern in the homicide linked up with the creator and avid doer of lobotomies in the in 40s.”

“Go on, then. Any patterns?”

“The murderer is an ex-shrink named Marshall Parry, who lost his licence years ago due to improper behaviour. He deemed himself the next Freeman and thought he could cure his old patients by performing a transorbital lobotomy, but Parry didn’t research it properly. He missed the prefrontal cortex connections and resulted in the frontal lobe being horribly, horribly disfigured and they died a very painful death.”

Lestrade and John stared at Sherlock

“Okay that’s great and all that you figured that out, but _why the fuck didn’t you tell the Yard any of this?_ ” John swore steam was coming out of Lestrade’s ears as he spoke.

“I figured it out last night, only merely just put the pieces together.” He spoke coolly, taking a sit in his arm chair, crossing his left leg over his right. He was a good liar when he wanted to be.

“Fucking unbelievable.” Lestrade grumbled, pulling out his mobile to call the Yard, telling them to hunt down a Marshall Perry. “Cheers for the coffee, John.” He mumbled, placing his mug down on the kitchen counter, and left, slamming the door behind him, muttering curses at Sherlock under his breath.

“If you keep doing that, they’re going to fire you y’know.” John spoke, now at the dining room table, surrounded by test tubes. His eyes were glancing over today’s news.

“Please, they wouldn’t last fifteen minutes without me.” He scoffed in return.

“Right, well, I should probably go call my supervisor and let them know I’m running late.” He folded the paper up, glancing at the time.

“You aren’t going to stay?”

“Sherlock, as much as I love your company, I need to be able to buy groceries next week. Why don’t we meet up on my lunch? I’ll only be gone for 5, maybe 6 hours.” He got up and hurried to get dressed, calling his boss and explaining he had an emergency to handle and he’d be there as soon as possible.

When John came out of his room, wearing his plaid button up and blue slacks, he looked over at a sulking Sherlock. John sighed and walked up, placing a kiss on his forehead.

“I’ll be home shortly, promise."

“Could I join you?” Sherlock was fidgeting.

“I think my boss would have my head if I showed up nearly forty-five minutes late with my boyfriend following. If you want to see me, my lunch is usually around one o’clock. You can tell the receptionist you’re there for me and I’ll come join you. On me.” John walked up to Sherlock, tilting his head up to plant a kiss on his lips, lingering a little longer than socially acceptable for a _goodbye kiss._

“Quit stropping, I’ll be home before you know it.” He gave Sherlock another kiss, before heading out the door and going to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me? avoiding smut again? two chapters in a row? what r the odds! 
> 
> im actually in the midst of the smut rn, might be the next chapter or the one after! 
> 
> also i feel like im bad at writing sherlock's uhh  
> brain n how it works so im trying my best, sorry if it's a bit ooc!  
> i dont wanna be offensive or make *too* much plot, so its mostly just grazed over!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ao3 user gale. this one's for you
> 
> **smut warning**

 

At work, time couldn’t go any _slower_ for John. He spent the day filing his paperwork and making sure everything was up to standard. Like clockwork, the receptionist called John to tell him someone was here to see him at exactly one o’clock. He put his white coat on the back of his chair and headed out, smiling. When he walked into the waiting room, he couldn’t help but burst into laughter. There was Sherlock, huddled over in a chair meant for children, his knees almost hitting his own chin.

“What are you on?” John wheezed, walking up to him and offering a hand.

“All the other chairs were taken, and I was told to take a seat.” He grumbled, standing up with the help of John.

“Right, well I have to be back at two fifteen, so let’s get going.” John walked out the door, Sherlock following him like a baby duck following their mother. John laced his fingers in between Sherlock’s, placing a kiss on the back of his partner’s hand.

 

The little sandwich place they ended up in was absolutely packed, so they ordered their food and drink to go. As John ordered, he felt Sherlock place a hand on his back, just below his opposite shoulder. John quite liked it, whatever the gesture implied.

Sherlock held the styrofoam cups of tea in his hand, and John held onto the bag that contained their sandwiches (and a packet of crisps Sherlock threw in last minute while the lady rung them up).

Sherlock ranted about some form of taxidermy as they walked back into John’s office. He stole a chair from one of the waiting rooms and let Sherlock have a seat as they tucked into their lunch.

“How domestic.” Sherlock mumbled, opening his packet of crisps and munching on them, crossing his left leg over his right after he sat down.

“Lestrade still upset at you?” John spoke in between a bite, swiveling slightly in his desk chair, bouncing his feet between the V the legs on wheels created.

“Very much so, but he always seems to come crawling back to me.”

“You really should’ve kept your word, you know that right?”

“Please, the killer was in such a state of shock that his plan didn’t work, he was most likely curled up in his bathtub, sobbing about being an abomination to mankind. Pathetic, really.”

“Well, you’re not allowed to complain about being bored without a case when Greg doesn’t come to you for help.”

“Greg?” He frowned, trying to hide the faintest grin appearing on his face.

“How long have you known this man and you still pretend to not know his name?”John chuckled, picking out a rather big piece of tomato from his sandwich.

“How’s work been?” Sherlock asked, completely ignoring the question.

“Quite alright, I guess. Had to write up my reports for the month- boss needs to check we’re up to standard, no malpractice here.”

“Hmm, sounds very very horrible.” He muttered in response, sipping on his tea.

“Could be worse,” John finished the last bite of his sandwich, throwing away his rubbage in the bin. “Have you cleaned the cooker yet?”

“Why would I- oh right, the badger foetus. ‘Course not, I haven’t found a place to put Trufflehunter. He’s currently soaking in potassium hydroxide, i daren’t disturb him.”

“ _Trufflehunter?_ The badger from Narnia?”

“And what about it?”

“Isn’t that a bit… insensitive?”

“He needed a name, John, what was I supposed to do?” John shook his head, laughing

“You’re a nutter sometimes, you know that, right? But I wouldn’t have you any other way.” Sherlock was staring at John’s lips, rather than his eyes. He clearly wanted something, and John couldn’t wait to see how long it took him to act on his impulse.

The conversation continued, however there was lingering tension as John kept making glances at Sherlock, licking his lips, with his best impression of bedroom eyes. With that, Sherlock stood up swiftly, standing in front of John and leaned down to kiss him, trying to be suave. However, he seemed to have miscalculated the fact that John’s chair did, in fact, have wheels and a swivel mechanism, causing John to be pushed away from him. John was laughing, clutching his stomach. Sherlock, however, was quite upset.

“Don’t give me that look,” John stifled between chuckles, settling down “Would you stop sulking if I stood up?” And he did just that, standing up, brushing his lap from crumbs that gathered on his trousers. Sherlock huffed, trying to not act bothered that his ever-so smooth plan crumbled. He still had to work on the _naturalness_ behind affection, but it’s just not something he’s had practise with. John didn’t care, but Sherlock couldn’t stop thinking about it. How was he supposed to cherish and care for John if he had to act like it was a play? John must be so used to experienced people, to people who-

It was John who managed to cut him off his thoughts, placing a kiss on his lips. Oh, John, if only he know about the effect he had on Sherlock. All those deductions lost, all those thoughts melted away with a simple kiss. It was bliss, truly, and the only time the detective enjoyed feeling like an idiot.

Sherlock ran his tongue over John’s lower lip, pushing him against the desk, digging into his lower back. John found himself pushing random papers and pens out of the way, sitting up on it as he pulled Sherlock in for another kiss by the lapels of his coat.

“Much better.” John mumbled against the taller man’s lips, wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling him closer for an open mouthed kiss. His partner found himself shucking his coat, feeling too stiff and uncomfortable whilst wearing it. He discarded on the floor, as John managed to pull his partner closer with one of his legs- nearly making him buckle at the knees as he squeezed his thigh around Sherlock’s.

Sherlock fiddled with the top buttons of John’s shirt, undoing the top three and trailing kisses down his neck, pausing to admire his work of the bruises he’d left prior. He considered running an experiment on them, as he kissed and licked down his partner’s neck. Maybe see what different amounts of pressure did to John’s neck, how long they lasted, maybe even in different areas… His thoughts immediately stopped when he heard John let out a quiet moan.

“John, can I.. please…” Sherlock’s hands found them hovering over John’s groin, a very clear tent in his trousers. John tilted his head back, very flustered. His brain felt like it was full of fog, and he just couldn’t think about this rationally. He looked back at Sherlock, seeing his eyes heavy-lidded, and nodded; biting his lip.

Sherlock started to undo John’s belt and zipper, before John gasped, pulling the detective’s hands off him.

“Sherlock the door… can you..” Sherlock looked over, it was unlocked. John loosened his grip on Sherlock’s legs and he locked it in one swift motion, before returning back to the spot he was in. John pulled him closer, gripping the fabric of his dress shirt as he kissed him, his tongue dancing in Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock started creeping his hands to John’s zipper, and got his hands in, feeling John’s dick through his boxer briefs. John pulled back from kissing Sherlock, inhaling sharply. Sherlock slipped his hands under the cloth, and let out a moan as he felt John’s dick in his hand. He did his best to pull the pants down, rubbing his finger over the slit of John’s head, earning himself a well-deserved moan.

He found himself slowly working up and down on John’s shaft. He had no clue what he was doing, and only used his previous experience from masturbation on himself (which was, quite frankly, an uncommon occurrence), but John was writhing and moaning softly. So he _must_ be doing something right.

John entangled his fingers in Sherlock’s curls as he placed kisses down the doctor’s neck, picking up the pace with his hand.

Sherlock breathed heavy down John’s neck, enjoying this as much as John was. The sounds John was making, though he did do his best to hide them, was music to Sherlock’s ears. John’s breath hitched as Sherlock stopped, pulling away from his neck to make eye contact with the doctor.

“Stand up,” Sherlock murmured, pulling John’s trousers and pants down as he did so. “Is it okay if I-” He spoke, sinking to his knees, his partner’s eyes widening with excitement. He nodded eagerly, his cheeks flushed.

Sherlock stared at John’s erection, a little overwhelmed. He let out a small sigh and licked a line from the bottom of the shaft to the tip, earning himself a well-deserved shudder from John. As he felt John’s hand on the back of his head, he lowered his mouth down the tip, lapping circles around the slit. His partner nearly tumbled over, his knees shaking.

Sherlock worked his mouth around the doctor’s erection, listening intently to his grunts and groans. He glanced up to look at John, taking in his face. Anytime Sherlock moved a little further down, the doctor’s nose scrunched up and his tongue hung out of his mouth, a heavy-lidded expression on his face.

“Sherlock, I-” Immediately, Sherlock stopped what he was doing, staring up at John with a very stern look.

“Are you okay? Was I using too much teeth? I knew I should’ve done-” He got cut off by his partner laughing.

“No, I’m about to, or was about to, cum. Didn’t want you choking on it.” A wave of relief washed over Sherlock. He nodded once and got back to sucking John off. Sherlock tried his best to focus on what he was doing, and not his racing thoughts. They were getting louder and louder, running through brain, like a child banging pots and pans together.

But as soon John tugged on his hair and came into the detective’s mouth with a moan, his thoughts came to a screeching halt. He pulled back, looking up at John, swallowing. As he stood up, he wiped his chin. John was breathing heavy, staring at Sherlock with a lopsided grin. As John’s hand hovered over Sherlock’s crotch, the detective froze.

“Everything alright?” John raised an eyebrow, looking at his partner’s stiff expression as he removed his hand and did his trousers up.

“Quite fine, dear John.”

“What’s bothering you, then? Did you not want to do that?”

“No no, I did. I enjoyed it very much, and I’m sure you did too.”

“If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine,” John murmured, cupping Sherlock’s cheek “Do you want me to return the favour?” Sherlock shook his head

“Why? Afraid I won’t do a good job?” He couldn’t help but chuckle as he placed a kiss on the detective’s lips.

“No, it’s that your lunch break is over.” _Oh._

“I’ll make it up when I get home, yeah?”

“I didn’t get to tell you about the process being done on Trufflehunter, it’s quite interesting.” Sherlock murmured, completely ignoring what John just mentioned.

“Wait…” John was the person who froze this time “You _aren’t_ upset that I’m not getting you off, but rather that you didn’t get to talk about a dead badger?” Sherlock gave him a quizzical look.

“Of course, why would I be upset at you?"

“I’m leaving you with an uncomfortable erection after you made me feel completely euphoric. It’s pretty selfish of me.”

“I wasn’t aware that you could owe someone an orgasm. We’re together, John, we have an entire lifetime of orgasms ahead of us.” John replied with a warm smile as Sherlock kissed him on the cheek.

Sherlock picked his jacket up and put it on, sticking the collar up.

“I’ll see you at home, John Watson.” And this time, it was Sherlock’s turn to give the goodbye kiss, leaving John feeling warm inside. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the end of my bulked up writing (i had to get my invite to make an account and my writing got out of control)  
> i do have a job, sadly, bc im a sad sad adult who needs money. so updates might be a little sparing, but i'll try my best to update as soon as possible. the second i write something my monkey brain goes "update" so yeah!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o hey another smut warning  
> i stayed up late writing this im gna be so tired at my morning shift enjoy this pls on behalf of my eternal exhaustion.

John’s work day seemed to fly by for the remaining hours after Sherlock’s visit, though he did find himself nodding off occasionally. Something about trying to work after  _ such _ a good orgasm was difficult. But, by the time the clock struck six, he was out of there and went home in quite a hurry.

When he opened the door to 221B, his nose was greeted with something delicious smelling. He glanced over to the kitchen to see a very bothered Sherlock swearing at an oven.

“Cursing at the hob isn’t going to make food cook faster, Sherlock.” John called out as he took his jacket off, hanging it up.

“John! You’re home.” Sherlock spoke, not bothering to look up from the pot on the stove.

“What are you-”

“Pasta alla norma.” He straightened his back, looking at John with a proud look on his face.

“...Right. Ok. Need a hand?”

“Could you lay the table?” John nodded as Sherlock got back to stirring the sauce. John picked up the empty beakers and placed them on the table in the living room, which was covered in papers and empty coffee mugs. He went around placing two plates, both with a fork and knife, including some wine glasses as well. 

Sherlock went around and spooned on the concoction of pasta, tomato sauce, and aubergine onto the plates. He managed to grab a bottle of Pinot Noir, placing it on the table as well with a bottle opener. 

“This should compliment the dish nicely,” Sherlock mumbled as he opened it, watching the doctor sit across from his place. “At least, that’s what Google told me.” John chuckled and pushed his glass closer as Sherlock poured a quite decent amount to them.

As Sherlock sat down, they began to tuck in.

“What made you decide to cook tonight? Not really your area.” John mumbled between bites.

“I didn’t think it would be such a confusing topic, that of me cooking you dinner after a hard day’s work.” He retorted, sipping his wine.

“Well, you should do it more often, this is  _ amazing _ .” 

They ate the meal quite slowly, mostly due to the fact they couldn’t stop talking. Whether it was the bottle of wine they finished between the two of them, or the argument they got into about the humane way to euthanize a fish, nobody knows. It left their faces tinged pink as they put the dishes in the sink, leaving them for the morning like the drunk idiots they are. They just stared at each other, Sherlock casually placing his hands on his partner’s hips as they faced each other. 

John wasn’t sure if it was his slightly inebriated brain, or the lust filling the air taking over his body as he grabbed Sherlock down for a hot, wet kiss. Their breath tasted of garlic and wine, not the most tasty substances to taste in someone else’s mouth, but they didn’t care. John found himself pushing Sherlock against the counter, taking control. Sherlock, though taken aback, though welcomed the control, as he let John slide his tongue into his mouth. The kisses were aggressive, implying more than snogging would happen in this very kitchen.

“Trousers. Off. Now.” John demanded in Sherlock’s ear, breathing heavy. Sherlock, albeit startled, followed the command, awkwardly stepping out of his trousers and tossing them to the side. 

“John if this is about making up for the office situation you really don’t need to-” He stopped as John’s thumbs hooked on his pant’s elastic, pulling them down.

“Shut up, Sherlock. That’s an  _ order. _ I don’t want to hear a peep from you.” John hissed into his ear, before sinking down to his knees. Sherlock blinked, but wasn’t opposed to it.

“John the door is unlock-”

“What did I just tell you?” John muttered, working his mouth around the detective’s erection. Sherlock bit his lip, his eyes wide.  _ Finally _ he understood what pleasure felt like, why sex drove so many people to become animalistic, why people masturbated daily, why-

His brain stopped working completely as John deepthroated him, his body overwhelmed with stimuli. He tilted his head back, mouth agape, as his hands were resting on the edge of the counter behind him. He finally gained the courage to look down at John, watching him suck and lick his erection. Just seeing this man, this blond brilliant man, doing such explicit things with his dick, bobbing his head up and down in a rhythm, was enough to make Sherlock shiver. 

He was trying  _ so hard _ not to moan John’s name, as he felt the man deepthroat him again. Being quiet was so  _ difficult. _ His lower lip was stinging from the amount of pressure he was applying with his teeth.

He tried breathing heavy, he tried listing the periodic table in his head, anything to stop this overwhelming pleasure building up, he was close already and he didn’t want this euphoric feeling to end.

As John swirled his tongue around the slit of his dick, he lost it. He came with a yelp right into John’s mouth. John swallowed, as he stood up to place a kiss on Sherlock’s cheek.

“How did you do that?” Was all Sherlock could muster, breathing heavy and hunched over as he came down from his orgasm. John responded with a chuckle, shaking his head.

“I’m surprised you haven’t broke your notepad out to write notes.” John murmured, smiling to himself.

“That would be highly inappropriate.” Sherlock huffed, pulling his pants up. He glanced over at his trousers on the floor. He’d pick them up later, for sure. He dragged John to the living room, where he unbuttoned John’s shirt.

“What are you doing?” John chuckled, trying to swat his hands away.

“If I’m naked, you’re naked.”

“ _ Sherlock… _ I can undress myself, I’m not five.” Though, that didn’t stop Sherlock. John started to get bothered, suddenly feeling very small. He silently cursed at himself for not wearing a vest underneath. His exposed skin made him tense up, until, that is, he saw Sherlock staring, a faint grin on his face. 

Sherlock pulled John’s shirt off, and ran his hand over John’s broad shoulders. His fingers danced over his partner’s skin, swirling down to his lower bicep, where the detective gave it a slight squeeze.

“You’re gorgeous, John. Your thoughts distract me from enjoying the view.” John couldn’t help but laugh, a nervous sort of laugh. Sherlock started unbuttoning his shirt as well.

“Go on, then.” He nodded to John’s trousers. John huffed and shucked his trousers off, as Sherlock plopped down on the sofa, and John crawled on top. They spent the night there, cuddling and watching useless game shows on the television, the occasional kisses turning into snogs. They both couldn’t get over how  _ right _ this felt. 

“I should probably go to bed,” John murmured into the nape of Sherlock’s neck, his eyes heavy from sleep.

“Probably.” Sherlock, however, didn’t move his hands that were wrapped around the doctor’s hips. 

“Sherlock…” John’s voice was stern, as he realised he was quite trapped.

“I don’t want you to go.” Sherlock couldn’t tell if he meant right now, or ever. 

“You can join me, muppet.” John spoke as Sherlock loosened his hands. Sherlock nodded as they both got up and headed to John'd bed. Sherlock laid down with John in the covers, pulling his partner back to rest his blond head on his chest. It was a feeling he never wanted to forget. Never.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing smut is like driving past a car crash for me and i have no idea why  
> i tried to just focus on sherlock's flustered thoughts rather than every single detail john was doing  
> if that isnt ur cup of tea :/ sorry that probably wont ever change
> 
> also remember shootbadcabbies on tumblr? damn. an icon. forgot they existed for a minute n got a happy memory of them. hope theyre ok.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is like  
> over 2000 words, which is quite a bit tbh. i couldn't really split it up comfortably though?  
> more is more

The days turned cold as it came closer to to the holidays, and Sherlock and John were inseparable. Sherlock had forgotten what his own bed felt like, as he joined John in his own almost every night. 

“My parents want to meet you.” Sherlock spoke, as John stirred whilst they lay in bed together.

“Yeah?”

“Yes, John. Why would I make such a pointless lie?” John couldn’t help but laugh

“Gimme a second to come up with a retort, ‘m still waking up,” He mumbled, placing a kiss on Sherlock’s cheek. “G’morning, by the way.”

“Good morning,” Sherlock pulled his partner close, enjoying the warmth their two bodies created. “My parents would like to meet you. Mycroft’s been… blabbering to mummy again.”

“When do they want to meet me?” John was a little taken aback, though flattered Sherlock’s parents had taken an interest in him.

“Christmas day, they invited us both over for tea. If your parents want to see you during the holidays, I suggest you invite them over Boxing day. I know you mentioned something about them missing you or something.”

“They usually go to the Isle to watch the hunt on boxing day, bit of a tradition on their end. I’ll ask them if we can meet up with them there.” John responded, as he wiggled away from Sherlock and stood up, hunting for his dressing gown. The thought of meeting Sherlock’s parents and then Sherlock meeting his  _ the next day _ was a lot for him to handle, but his anxiety would have to wait. 

John picked his mobile up from the nightstand, fumbling in his contacts for his mother’s number.

“Could you go put the kettle on? I’m going to ring my mother.” The detective reluctantly stood up, the cold air giving him goosebumps. He strided out of the room as John rang his mum.

He spent the next twenty minutes pacing around his room, talking to his mother. She rambled on about how he should visit more, and how her retirement was going.

“Right, mum, I was wondering if I could meet up with you on Boxing day? There’s someone I want you to meet- Yes, yes of course. Ok, ta mum. See you then- love you too.” He hung up, walking out of the room. He found his cup of tea next to his usual armchair, as Sherlock was hunched over what looked like a piece of wood on the table in the living room.

Picking his tea up, he walked by, standing behind him. He peeked over his shoulder to see Sherlock meticulously pinning a butterfly’s wings in place. He used strips of wax paper with glass over them, placing pins through the paper and into the wood. John was bewildered, but taken out of a trance when he noticed his partner had ripped the legs off and thrown them onto the floor. John slowly eased his hand over Sherlock’s shoulder blade, letting his presence be known. It wouldn’t be kind of him to scare his partner whilst he was doing such a delicate process. Sherlock looked up at him, pin in mouth, causing John to flinch back in fear of being stabbed.

“My mum said she’d be over the moon if we joined her Boxing day.” John mumbled as Sherlock pulled the pin out of his mouth and got back to carefully arranging them around the specimen’s wings.

“Can you promise me something?” John murmured into Sherlock’s ear, placing a kiss just below it.

“Hm?”

“Can you promise to leave the deductions _in_ _your mind palace_ when you meet my parents?”

“What else am I supposed to do as my party trick?” His response earned himself a laugh from John. Few things made him happier than when his wits made John laugh. The sound was music to his ears. 

“You’ll think of something.” John straightened his back, taking a sip of his tea. He stood in front of the window, watching the chilly wind blow the rubbage around in the street.  _ There’s no place like London _ he thought, watching the third plastic bag blow by. He found himself zoning out, watching people walk by on the pavement and the cars driving by. He tried to curb the fear that was brewing inside him. He shook his head, trying to shake the anxious and paranoid thoughts out of his brain. 

  
\---  
  


John spent the next week and a half before Christmas day panicking. Panicking over presents, over meeting Sherlock’s family, and Sherlock meeting his. His head spun with worrisome events that could happen, half of them ending up with someone dying. This wasn’t  _ Cluedo _ , but he couldn’t let the thoughts stop. At least the two agreed to celebrate their own Christmas after these two very chaotic events, which put John at slight ease. However, the nervousness swarmed his brain like a brewing storm, only waiting to crash in on him the second they both hopped into the taxi, driving them to the Holmes estate. 

“Mummy and father tend to move around quite a bit, especially after the fire, so we’ll be visiting their home in New Forest.” Sherlock mumbled to John as he scrolled on his phone, frowning. 

“New Forest, eh? Didn’t see them as Hampshire folk.” John was trying to stay calm, though his brain was screaming at him at max volume.

“Father enjoys studying the wildlife. Well, I say ‘study’, he’s quite dimwitted, really. More of a watcher than an observer. Always walks around with binoculars on his neck, staring at trees he thinks a bird might be nesting in. Tedious and idiotic behaviour, honestly, I don’t know why my mother married him.” John nodded in response, going back to staring out the window, watching the trees get thicker as they entered the New Forest.

As the taxi pulled up to the house, John’s heart was pounding. He glanced over at Sherlock, who was already opening his door and stepping out, adjusting his coat collar. John sighed and followed, and the two walked up to the door together. One of Sherlock’s hands had the handles of two gift-bags in, the other hand held John’s. The house was big, but old. Ivy grew up the sides between the cracks in the brick. When they got to the front door, Sherlock let go of his partner’s hand and knocked three times. 

They were greeted by a white-haired man who was Sherlock’s height, a huge grin on his face.

“Hullo! Hurry in, don’t want all the warm air escaping, do we?” They stepped inside, and the two hung their coats up on the hooks by the door.

“Nice to finally meet you, Dr. Watson,” The elder man held his hand out, and John took it and shook, smiling in response.

“Call me John, please.”

“Where’s mother?” Sherlock muttered, looking very unamused, though hugging his dad, mumbling his hellos.

“In the kitchen, preparing dinner.” Sherlock was off, and John followed, giving a small smile to Sherlock’s father.

“Mum, this is John. John… this is my mother.” She was shorter, about John’s height. She held her arms out to John and hugged him, kissing his cheek as well. 

“Nice to meet you, John. I’ve heard so much about you, but it’s pleasant to have a face to the name.” She smiled warmly, before turning to Sherlock and giving him a hug as well. She turned and focused back on scrubbing the potatoes, chopping them and placing them into a baking dish.

“Mycroft is on his way, though he said he might be a bit late. Please, make yourselves at home. Maybe Sherlock can show you around the garden!”

“Sounds great, Mrs. Holmes.” John smiled slightly and looked up at Sherlock, wondering what the  _ fuck  _ to do now. 

“Come, John, there’s something I want to show you.” His fingers laced between the doctor’s as he placed the presents on the table, leading John out the back door. There was a gravel path that led down to the edge of the fence, and Sherlock found himself tugging his partner down it.

“What is it you wanted to show me?” John called out, nearly bumping into Sherlock as he stopped right in front of him.

“If you looked, John, it wouldn’t be that difficult.” Sherlock huffed, stepping to the side, revealing a bee box.

“Oi, watch it.” He threatened in response, though his expression softened as he saw what Sherlock was referring to.

“We used to keep honey bees,” Sherlock murmured, picking at the chipping paint “We’ve had this box since I was little, and whenever we took a trip here, we’d collect the honey and Victor and I would pretend it was liquid gold in jam jars.” Sherlock, although physically there, sounded mentally distant. John’s heart stung. Sherlock very rarely mentioned Victor, but when he did, his emotional wall surrounding him came tumbling down, revealing that there was indeed a human being behind those stoic expressions. 

John let go of Sherlock’s hand, and placed it on his back. He knew if he spoke, he’d say the wrong thing, so he just offered comfort. 

“Right,” Sherlock responded, after a moment of staring in silence, “Let’s get back to festivities. Watch out for mummy, she  _ will _ force a Christmas cracker hat on your head.” He turned to look at John, leaning down to place a soft kiss on his lips. 

“Thank you for showing me,” John mumbled against his lips, placing another kiss “I know it’s hard for-”

“I didn’t realise there was mistletoe out here, brother dear.” A voice spoke, and Sherlock jolted back away from John to make eye contact with his older brother.

“Do you ever think before you open your mouth? Or does your brain only work when there’s a piece of cake in front of you, fork in hand, and you sit there, wondering if the excess weight will go to your bulging stomach or your tree trunks for thighs?” John stared up at his partner, and stepped on Sherlock’s toe- earning himself his own glare.

“Be nice, Sherlock. It’s Christmas.” John muttered.

“That’s hardly an excuse, Dr. Watson, though I do appreciate your attempt at muzzling your little…  _ boyfriend. _ ” Mycroft turned on his heel, tucking his umbrella under his arm, trotting back to the house.

“Prick..” John grumbled under his breath, his nose red from the cold. He glanced up at Sherlock as they shared a giggle, their breath dancing in the cold winter air. Sherlock found himself pointing at different plants growing in the garden, from his parents' favourites to the one's he planted himself.

“Do you mind if we head indoors? My toes _might_ fall off if I'm out here any longer.” Sherlock rolled his eyes in response and they headed in, sitting down on the loveseat in the living room. 

Sherlock kicked his shoes off and tucked his legs up, hugging his knees. Mr. Holmes sat down in a leather arm chair, holding a tin of sweets. 

“So, John…”

“Hm?”

“Forgive me for being intrusive, but Sherlock never seemed like the dating type, how did you two get together?” Sherlock laughed at himself when his father asked.

“He, well, told me we were together. And I didn’t protest.”

“Just out of the blue? Like that?” Mr Holmes snapped when he said the word  _ that _ . John chuckled.

“Basically, yeah. He’s not really a man you want to say no to, and I’m glad I didn’t.” John responded, earning him a very warm smile from Mr Holmes.

“John, please,” Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes, though he was definitely blushing. “We were  _ clearly  _ a couple, you just didn’t have the brain smart enough to put the pieces together.”

“Watch it…” John squinted in his direction, though grinning.

Mycroft strode in as the conversation lulled on, basic questions here and there. He crammed himself next to John, looking him up and down. The doctor found himself scooting much closer to Sherlock, who had moved his legs to rest in John’s lap. 

“And how about you, Myc? Any luck in the love department?” Mr Holmes asked, tossing John a sweet. 

“No, not really.” Mycroft responded, frowning slightly, lost in thought.

“No one? Not one person?”

“Well, I’ve considered a certain person as… tolerable in a romantic situation, though very inappropriate for us to be together.”

“Liar.” Sherlock muttered, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. 

“Be nice, Sherlock, it’s Christmas.” Mycroft responded, smiling as sweetly as he could. 

“You’re both impossible.” John groaned, pinching his nose bridge, as he earned himself a small chuckle from Mr Holmes.

The conversation lulled on, right up until Mrs. Holmes called them to dinner. They all sat at the table, cracking the crackers open (it was John who forced Sherlock to wear the party hat this time, not his mother.)

“Do you two have any plans for Boxing day?” Was mentioned by Mrs Holmes, directed to John. She knew asking either of her children could result in a very wordy row.

“Yes, actually. Sherlock and I are meeting up with my parents on the Isle of Wight, to watch the hunt.”

“That’s a bit of drive from London, what, three hours?” Mr Holmes added, as John nodded in response.

“Why don’t you two spend the night here? It’d be a third of a journey for you to go through.”

“Are you sure? I’d hate for us to be invasive.” John was shocked by the hospitality.

“We’d love to, mummy.” Sherlock mumbled in response, picking the rosemary pieces off his roast potatoes.

“That’s awfully kind of you, thank you Mr and Mrs Holmes.” John smiled warmly as he placed a hand on Sherlock’s thigh, giving it a slight squeeze. 

The meal continued on, full of rich laughter and crazy stories, leaving John to wonder what on Earth he was nervous about in the first place. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got the weekend off so naturally i will be writing nothing but this story  
> im tryna get to sherlock's birthday but thats in january and i cant just skip christmas now can i?  
> that'd be a crime punishable by law.  
> dont worry sherlock will be the anxious mess as well before he meets john's parents. :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive been very sad lately so i wrote my dumb idiot loser boys being dumb idiot losers together.

As the night came to an end, they had all exchanged presents.

Mr and Mrs Holmes had gotten Sherlock a digital orbital shaker, Mycroft a new umbrella, and John a very nice watch. Sherlock had pinned his parents a spread of insects, consisting of different species of bees and native butterflies. Mycroft got his parents a very expensive bottle of wine, and whiskey for the detective and doctor. John and Sherlock had gotten Mycroft a set of cufflinks, gold and in the shape of a lion roaring. 

After presents, they all cozied up and watched movies, until Mr and Mrs Holmes called it a night.

As they said goodnight, Mycroft motioned John to follow him for a second. Sherlock huffed and protested to his brother  _ stealing _ his boyfriend from him.

“On Christmas, Mycroft. Do you not have any compassion? Disgusting...” Sherlock turned around sharply into the guest room, closing the door a bit louder than intended

“Everything… ok?” John asked as he followed Mycroft into an empty room of the house, just out of earshot from Sherlock.

“John, I don’t think you realise the impact you’ve had on Sherlock and his mind.” John glared up at Mycroft.

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to get at, but if Sherlock has an issue with me,  _ we _ will talk about it.  _ We _ meaning Sherlock and I. Not you as well. You have your own fucking business and we have ours.”

“That’s not what I was implying, Doctor Watson. Let me talk.” John sighed and crossed his arms, staring daggers at the man.

“Go on, then.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft retorted, and John admits it was the most insincere thank-you he’d ever heard. “Sherlock cares about you more than he lets out to, which is lovely. I’m glad he’s found someone who puts up with his aggravating insults and petty spats. But, Sherlock’s never loved someone before. I worry he may spiral, simply from overwhelming emotions. I do care about him, John. Don’t let him tell you otherwise.” Mycroft sighed, adjusting his coat. That clearly wasn’t all he wanted to say. He was fidgeting, something was bothering him.

“You’re worried I’m going to trigger a relapse, aren’t you?” John spoke, his voice sharp.

“I’m not implying it would happen, nor am I blaming you if it does occur. It’s just a concern. You have my number, feel free to text me if he sees… off. Spending long nights out, his behaviour changing rapidly. You’re a doctor, you should know the symptoms.” Mycroft was looking down at his hands, both in fists.

“You have a weird way of caring for your brother, you know that? But I will.” John held his hand out, expecting a handshake, but Mycroft hugged him, a stiff awkward hug, but a hug nonetheless. 

“I do have to go now, John. Thank you.” And they both went their own ways- Mycroft out into the freezing cold air, and John into the guest room, where Sherlock was in the process of undoing his shirt buttons..

“What did he want?” Sherlock frowned, trying to read what John’s facial expression was.  _ Concern _ . 

“He… thanked me. For the present. Didn’t want you thinking he’d come a big softie.” John teased, walking up to the taller man as he stripped out of his shirt. His arms were veiny and covered in small scars.  _ Needle punctures _ John remembers Sherlock telling him,  _ Nothing to worry about now, but something that will haunt me forever.  _

“Why didn’t he thank me? The card had both our names on it.”

“I think anyone in England would be able to figure out who bought the present and who added their name to the card in the car.” John mumbled, wrapping his hands around Sherlock’s waist, pulling him close. Sherlock’s posture softened as he placed a hand under the doctor’s chin, tilting his head up. Those beautiful, crystal eyes could stare right through to John’s soul. The very look sent a shiver down John’s spine.

Sherlock places his lips on John’s, soft and sweet. John hummed, enjoying the physical contact. He took pride in himself seeing Sherlock soften up, feeling the detective completely relax his usually rigid muscles. 

Soon enough, John felt a pair of cold hands trail underneath his jumper, causing goosebumps. He pulled back from the detective’s lips as he pulled the article of clothing off, tossing it to the side. Sherlock placed his hands on the doctor’s shoulders, his fingers dancing incomprehensible shapes over the muscles. The light touches were enough to give John a headache.

“Father lent you a pair of his pyjamas if you want to wear them,” Sherlock spoke, his velvety voice snapping John away from his daze. “Though I’d much prefer you stark naked.” 

“Be a bit weird spooning someone in your dad’s clothes, wouldn’t it?” John chuckled, taking Sherlock’s hand off his shoulder, and placed a delicate kiss on the tips of his middle and ring fingers. 

After they finished undressing down to their pants, they both huddled under the thick duvet after flicking the lights off, Sherlock on his back and John on his side, facing the detective. He shuffled over to rest his head on Sherlock’s chest, cuddling up. He placed the occasional kiss on the detective' bare chest as they mumbled to each other about pointless facts (most of which John learned from QI.)

“ ‘Night, Sherlock.” John murmured, closing his heavy eyelids, listening to Sherlock’s heartbeat.

“Goodnight, John.”

 

\---

 

When John woke early in the morning, he was very confused to find himself under the covers completely. He stuck his head out, frowning slightly at a smug-looking Sherlock, wide awake. It didn’t look like he slept a wink. 

“What? I was cold and your head was in the way of pulling the duvet up, so naturally I pulled it over.”

“Sherlock…”

“It was either your  _ slight  _ discomfort or hypothermia, John. I didn’t want this to be how I died. I can see the headlines all over the news;  _ Brilliant Sherlock Holmes found dead by hypothermia because his idiot boyfriend would be upset if he woke up a little stuffy under the duvet. _ ”

“You’re an overdramatic twat sometimes, you know that?” John couldn’t help but laugh at his partner, though. “C’mon, get up, we have a ferry to catch.” 

John, much to Sherlock’s disdain, wriggled from his grasp to get dressed. Sherlock huffed and he puffed, and he too, got dressed. 

They walked out of the room together, holding hands. Mr and Mrs Holmes, though sad to see them go, offered to have one of their workers drop of their brandy Mycroft had gotten them to 221B.

“That’d be great, Mrs. Holmes.” John replied, giving her a goodbye hug. 

The ferry was  _ disastrous _ to get on, but the forty seven minutes seemed to fly by. They had a cup of tea in the little cafe, and Sherlock found himself not making eye contact with John. At all.

They eventually arrived to the place his parents would be, and Sherlock was shaking. Was he shaking? He felt like he was shaking. A constant vibration of nerves rushed through his body as they got closer to the destination. When the car stopped, his hand hovered over the handle. On the drive there, his brain had come up with over three thousand scenarios in which he thought would happen, and half of them involved John breaking up with him. 

“C’mon, I can see them waiting.” John looked over at a wide-eyed Sherlock, placing a kiss on his cheek as he got out to greet his parents. The detective reluctantly joined him. They had arrived at a sort of cabin shopping area, overgrown with greenery, the benches covered in a thin layer of ice. The horses were there, with their riders brushing and grooming them, getting ready for the hunt. 

“Sherlock, these are my parents. Mum, dad, I’d like to you meet my boyfriend: Sherlock Holmes.” Sherlock tried his best to smile, trying to hide the fact he was about to steal a horse and ride away from this awkward situation.

They blinked.  _ Shock. _ Great, Sherlock had decided the only way to get rid of this tension was to hold his hand out, offering a handshake. Mr Watson reluctantly took it.

“John when you said you wanted us to meet someone-”

“Margaret, it’s not that big of a deal. We were about to get a cup of tea, would you two like one as well?”

“That’d be great, dad.” John grinned, acting oblivious. When they left, Sherlock placed his hand on the doctor’s shoulder.

“Why did they not know I was your boyfriend, John?”

“Mum cut me off on the phone, didn’t really let me elaborate.” Sherlock suddenly felt very small, his heart stung in his chest.

“Are you embarrassed of me?” His voice sounded soft, upset. 

“How do you mean?” John turned to him, frowning.

“You didn’t think tell your parents about me and clarify, they thought you were with a woman.” 

“Does it matter? I’m not with a woman, I’m with you. Now they know. Even if they told me they hated you, I wouldn’t be embarrassed at all. I love you, Sherlock.” John took Sherlock’s hand in his as his parents came back.

“Obviously,” Was all Sherlock could mutter, the cogs in his brain froze. John loved him? Clearly he loved him back, but how? Why? This was almost too much for him. “I love you too.” He mumbled in response, realising the look of sadness he’d caused to form on John’s face. He tilted his head down and placed a very soft, very gentle kiss on John’s cheek.

Mrs. Watson, a short portly woman, ended up apologising for her initial reaction, and the conversation continued, basic trivial questions about Sherlock and John, their relationship, what they’ve been up to. Silly stories, nothing serious. Eventually the hunt started, as the announcer yelled, and the hounds and horses were off. 

“Forgot they hunted stuffed toys now,” John mumbled, sipping on his tea “I remember when they’d come back with foxes slung over the rear of the horse.”

“It dates back to the 1500s,” Sherlock responded “Didn’t use dogs til nearly a hundred years later, though. Started off as pest control, funny how something so trivial and necessary became such a tradition. Lots of laws and acts are surrounding it now, mostly due to the uprising of illegal hunts. Sometimes they just… let the dogs chase them, no guns to be seen.”

“Why do you know all that, Mr Holmes?” Mr Watson asks, removing his binoculars, a quizzical look on his face.

“I ran a case back in 2006, the one with the serial killer who ran his own hunting games with human beings. Had them running through the woods on all fours. ”

“I do remember reading about that vaguely. Are you a police officer then?”

“I’m a consulting detective. The first of its kind. When the police are stuck, they come to me for help. Do you not read your own son’s blog? It’s full of our adventures chasing homicidal maniacs.” 

“Sherlock…” John warned him, his voice sounded very stern.

“We had no idea John… helped you.” Mrs Watson looked shocked, though tried to keep her composure together. 

“Sometimes I need the opinion of a brilliant doctor such as your son. He’s a lot smarter than he looks. You should check it out sometime- his blog, I mean. Though his writing can be quite repetitive, not my taste I suppose, but he does take pride in it- so I do as well.” Sherlock couldn’t tell if his partner’s face as red from anger, embarrassment, or the cold. He practically _ begged _ it was the last option. He just wanted John’s parents to tolerate him.

Mr and Mrs Watson, though confused, tried their best to follow along with the conversation they had, as they set out to find a spot to eat. The conversation stayed light at the table, though Sherlock did earn a step or two on his foot when he spoke out of line. 

The day lulled on, full of cheerful interactions and sightseeing. It took John all his might to stop Sherlock from running off to find the donkey sanctuary. As the day came to a close and they said goodbye, Mrs Watson managed to give Sherlock a hug goodbye. The gesture, though small, put Sherlock at ease. No mother would hug someone she didn’t approve of. At least he hoped. 

“Sorry if we got on the wrong foot,” Mr Watson spoke, shaking the detective’s hand “We do truly think you and John are a perfect fit. Keep him in his place, yeah?” Sherlock nodded, a genuine grin on his face this time.

On their long drive home, Sherlock rested his head on his partner’s shoulder, and halfway home John could’ve sworn he heard the tiniest of snores. Cute. 

When they arrived home, they realised it was  _ very _ dark, the sky dotted with very few stars. London was too busy and bright for them to be on full display. They trudged up the stairs, exhausted from all the social interaction. John made a mental note to run to the countryside with Sherlock for a weekend, just to get away from all the havoc and police sirens at three am. 

“Headed to bed, care to join?” John mustered as he hung his coat up, but Sherlock was already on his way to lay in John’s- no, their bed. John fell asleep immediately, though Sherlock stayed up, laying on his side, watching his boyfriend sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look i went to the isle of wight once when i was 12 and all i remember is that sodding garlic farm and i didn't want them at a garlic farm. sorry its a bit vague i didn't want to incorrectly describe these places.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh its doyle's birthday  
> thanks for the gays

John woke up to the sound of a soft  _ thump _ on the wall. Bleary eyed, he raised his head, squinting in the direction of the noise. It was Sherlock, fully dressed, kicking the wall.

“Sher… what the fuck?” John mumbled, a frown transfixed on his face. The sun was barely rising, the faint light trickled in the room, bringing attention to the particles of dust dancing around the room. 

“Bored, John.”

“Why you taking it out on the wall then?”

“He deserved it.”

“You stubbed your toe on the skirting board peeking out the window, didn’t you?”

“Even if I  _ did _ do such a ludicrous act which  _ really _ hurt, not that I know, just a brilliant deduction on my end; I wouldn’t tell you. I’m a mysterious man. Maybe I felt like kicking the wall, give it a run for its money. This is an old building, John. What if I found a stud in the wall, that could cause the roof above our very heads to collapse?”

“Then your kicking would’ve resulted in the wall collapsing. Next question.” John sat up in bed, pulling the cover with him, covering his chest, exposing his back. His room was always  _ freezing, _ especially in the mornings. 

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it. He only looked John up and down.

“Sherlock if you want me to make breakfast you’re going to have to give me a minute to wake up,” He muttered, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He swung his feet over, staring at the floor as he tried his best to keep his eyes open. He focused on the cold floor, the sharp feeling in his feet a constant feeling he can focus on- rather than how much he’d love to cozy on up under the covers and sleep for another couple hours. 

“John,” Sherlock murmured, walking up to stand right in front of the shorter man. The doctor peeked up at him, letting out a soft sigh. Sherlock motioned him to stand up, and reluctantly, John did. Sherlock placed a kiss on the shorter man’s lips, his hands resting on John’s hips. The kisses were soft, sweet, lazy even. 

“You need to shave,” Sherlock pulled back to whisper in John’s ear “Your stubble is distracting.”

“I’m sure it’d feel nicer in between your thighs, maybe even down your neck.” John responded with, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s neck. 

“I’d rather not get a rash, thank you-” His sentence was cut off by John’s lips barely pressing against his.

“Now you’re just teasing me.” The detective huffed, and John pulled away, grabbing his dressing gown. 

“I’ll snog you proper well when I’ve had my tea, alright? Got a funny taste in my mouth.” He called out, grabbing the handle of the bedroom door and headed out. Sherlock didn’t follow.

John leaned his back against the counter, waiting for the kettle to heat up. Still no Sherlock.

As John made his tea, he sat down in the living room to sip it, reading his book Sherlock spoiled for him. The detective was nowhere to be seen. Though John knew they lived together, spent the majority of their lives together, and we’re inseparable, he couldn’t help but feel a little alone when he sat by himself in this apartment. Maybe  _ because _ the two were always doting on each other, the lonesomeness creeped in much quicker when their other half wasn’t there. He knew deep down he could very much survive without Sherlock, and vice versa, but they wouldn’t dream of that day.

After he drained his mug, he stood up and walked back to his room to see Sherlock typing frantically at his own laptop, lounging on the bed. 

“I asked for the rest of the week off after Christmas, was wondering if you wanted to celebrate today?” John mumbled, hovering over his chest of drawers.

“John, we’ve practically had two Christmases, which is enough for any man to last a lifetime. Do you really want a third?”

“I wanted to give you your present is all, bellend.” John teased, as he fiddled around for a clean pair of jeans.

“Can my present from you be to shave and snog me all day?” He sounded a little  _ too _ hopeful.

“Do you  _ not _ want the present I got you then? I can return it today if you  _ just want to snog _ .” He huffed as he hopped into his jeans and pulled on his blue-striped long sleeve. He fiddled with the sleeve, pulling at the pilling fabric.

“That won't be necessary. Something’s on your mind, John. Talk to me before that shirt of yours becomes a pile of string on the floor.”

“I was just wondering, since you’re spending so much time in here, I don’t even remember the last time you were in your own room to sleep I… What I’m getting at is, maybe you could move your clothes in here, sock index and all.” He was staring at his feet, before he looked up at a very confused Sherlock.

“You want to share your space with me?”

“Yeah, ‘course. It’s a bit of a big step I know but I’m sure we can make it work,” He blinked “If-if you don’t want to, that’s fine.”

“I don’t understand. We already live together, would it make you happier if we got dressed in the same room?”

“Wouldn’t it be easier for you to get up and get dressed in the same room?” His voice sounded small, sitting down by Sherlock’s feet. Maybe he’d crossed a line. Sherlock tossed his laptop to the side, looking directly at John.

“I suppose so, though it isn’t mandatory,” He frowned, reading the doctor’s face “You’re upset.”

“I told you, it’s fine if you say no-”

“Is this a strange couples step I’m not aware of? I don’t mean any harm to our relationship, John.”

“It just makes it more… real, yeah? Sharing a room completely. Like we’re together for the long run.”

“Why does having my pants in the same room as yours act as a sign of our relationship lasting? I would’ve moved them in much sooner if that was really the case,” The detective stood up and placed his rosin that he’d left in his pocket on the chest of drawers. “There. A personal touch to our room.” He looked over at John, his eyes racing to read his body language.

“I’ll move in gradually,” Sherlock spoke again, breaking the long moment of silence “As much I would  _ love _ to sit and add every single article of clothing I have to your room, it  _ is _ Christmas. We can turn my old room into a guest room, or even better: a lab.”

“We’ll see,” John couldn’t help but laugh as he stood up and pulled the detective down for a kiss. “I love you.” 

“I’d love you more if you shaved,” Sherlock placed a kiss on top of his forehead, avidly avoiding the scruff

“Don’t like the roughed up look?” He teased, placing a kiss on Sherlock’s cheek.

“Maybe if it was more defined, and felt less like velcro rubbing on my face.” John rubbed his chin, feeling the prickly hairs sprouting from his chin. The taller man looked unamused.

“Are you really not going to kiss me if I keep my scruff?” Sherlock nodded in response.

“Right then, two people can play that game.” John found himself winking before turning around and headed to the kitchen to make some toast.

When Sherlock walked out, he was clearly hiding something behind his back. John raised an eyebrow at him, his mouth full of marmalade-covered toast.

“Happy Christmas, John.” Sherlock placed a horribly wrapped box covered in newspaper. Wiping his fingers on his jeans, he picked up the box. Much lighter than he expected, given the size. He unwrapped it and tossed the paper to the side. 

Inside was a few items. Some clarinet reeds, a bullet casing, a string off a teabag, and a handful messy notes. They were resting on something knit, so he carefully placed the items down on the table and unfolded a very soft, cream coloured turtleneck.

“This jumper is absolutely gorgeous Sherlock, but why the smaller items?”

“I held onto these items when I realised I had fallen in love with you. There were times in our friendship I feared I would lose you, so I held onto these small things. But I don’t need them anymore,” Sherlock spoke softly, though John was only half-listening. He was doing his best to read the notes left, full of compliments and simple memories. “The notes were in my mind palace, and still are, but I feared they’d get deleted one day. So I wrote them down. I didn’t want to forget.”

“I think I owe you an apology, love.” The detective blinked.

“Did you do something wrong?” John stood up, placing the turtleneck gently back in the box and faced Sherlock.

“I never took you as a man for sentiment, but now I know you’re a big softie,” He took Sherlock’s hand and placed a soft kiss on his palm, humming. 

“Please, it was clearly for scientific reasons.” It took every fibre in Sherlock’s body not to snog his partner right then and there, but that  _ beard. _

“Do you want your present from-” John was cut off by Sherlock’s phone ringing. Frowning, the detective answered. From what John could hear, it was a frantic Mycroft. Sherlock’s usual sneering demeanor vanished. It seemed serious. 

“Yes, of course. I’ll be right there.” He muttered, hanging up.

“Is everything ok?” John’s voice was softer than usual, filled with worry.

“I have to go out of town, John. South of France, to be exact. Our grandmother has fallen very ill and-” John cut him off with a shake of his hand.

“Say no more, this is serious. Your family needs you.” 

“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone-”

“Doesn’t matter. We have mobiles, we can chat. If Mycroft thinks its urgent enough for you to be there, go be there.” Sherlock nodded, before planting a kiss on John’s lips. He ran off to pack, and there was a knock on the door. John answered to reveal one of Mycroft’s drivers.

Sherlock came out, small suitcase in hand, and looked sadly at John.

“I wish you could be there with me-” He mumbled, kissing the shorter man. The kisses were soft, desperate even. And with that, Sherlock was out the door, off to France. John knew it was an emergency, but he couldn’t help feel his heart sink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i struggled so hard with present ideas i had sherlock fuck off to france.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for being gone for like 4 days have some gay  
> *slight smut warning*

_ Boarding now. I’ll be back before you know it  - SH _

 

_ I love you Sherlock _

 

_ I love you too, John. - SH _

 

That was the last message John received from Sherlock for a week. He spent those days frantically checking his phone. The days seemed dull, boring. He missed Sherlock, really. He wasn’t possessive, he wasn’t angry or upset at him for being gone. He had a good reason to be away. But he just  _ missed _ him terribly. He did best to occupy his mind, up until New Years Eve. John went to bed at his usual time, not bothering to stay up into the new year, though he found himself waking up to his phone buzzing at 10.59PM.

“H’lo?” He answered, trying to wake his brain up.

“Happy New Years, John.”

“You’re an hour early, Sherlock.” He couldn’t help but laugh slightly, trying to calm his excitement at hearing the detectives voice.

“Did I wake you?”

“Little bit, yeah. Hows France treating you?”

“Quite boring, I miss you  _ terribly. _ ”

“You’ll be home before you know it. Do you have any idea when you’ll be home?”

“Sometime next week, surely. The funeral is in two days time, and after everything’s in order I’ll be free to fly home.”

“Christ, Sherlock. Are you alright?”

“We knew it was happening before we arrived, it was only a matter of when. I wasn’t close, though she did mean quite a lot to Mycroft. I’m mostly here for him, but don’t let him know that. Something about having his whiny little brother around gives him something else to focus on.” 

“Well I’m glad you’re there to help him.” John was sitting up now, and turned his bedside light on.

“I’ll make sure make his life a living hell, don’t worry.” The detective responded, earning him a chuckle from John.

“Still a bit upset I didn’t get to give you your present, though I understand the urgency. Mycroft’s always bad with timing.”

“Did you try on the jumper?”

“I did, yes. It fits perfectly, how you knew my size baffles me.”

“I observe, John. It’s not difficult.”

“Makes me wonder what else you’ve observed and got locked up in your brain about me.”

“You’d either be surprised, mortified, or infatuated. Even a possibility of all three at once, knowing you.”

“Unlike you I’m a man of  _ many _ emotions.”

“Mm, such a disadvantage on your end.” John could _ hear _ the smirk look the detective had plastered on his face.

“Sherlock, as much as I love talking to you, I should really go back to sleep, I have an early morning. You’re free to call and text me whenever, but I can understand if you want to be with your family. I love you.”

“I love you too, John. Good night.” And he hung up. 

John sighed, turning his light off and laid back down, staring at the ceiling. He rolled over and shut his eyes, and slowly fell into a dreamless sleep.

 

  
\---  
  
  


The days lulled by, and John had a familiar feeling of how he was when we first came back to London from Afghanistan. Mundane. Boring. Grey. He missed running after his chaotic partner after serial killers, he missed the thrill of it all. He couldn’t picture where his life would’ve gone if he didn’t mean that insane detective. He hates the small talk he’s been forced into with coworkers; though  _ everyone _ hates small talk. Not everyone can be Sherlock, with all the ranting about tree fungi and bone diseases. At least those topics, though grim, were  _ interesting _ . The only times John truly enjoyed his days alone, was when Sherlock sent him a goodnight text. Though not much, it meant the world to John.

What’s worse, his limp came back. Dusting off his cane and hobbling around made him feel useless, pathetic. It was this time in his life where John realised the huge impact Sherlock Holmes had on him, both physical and mental.

  
  


On the sixth of January, John woke up as usual, made himself his morning cup of tea and sat down to read the paper. He fiddled with his mobile before sending a message.

 

 _Happy birthday Sherlock_ _  
__Wish you were here so we could celebrate_

 

No reply. He wasn’t sure what he expected, Sherlock only texted him at night. He was probably busy. He shook the negative thoughts away and went around cleaning. With Sherlock being gone, he’d made it his sole mission on the weekends to tidy the flat a bit more than he’d been allowed whilst living with the unruly detective. He felt quite proud of himself, organising the test tubes and sweeping up the piles of dust. Something easy for him to distract his brain from.

The weather had turned sour, full of thunder and heavy rain. Nothing like England rain to damper a mood. He lit the fireplace and found himself cozied up on the sofa with a very well-loved book. He found himself very engrossed until he heard creaking from the stairs. Shrugging it off, he turned a page in his book, trying to get back into the swing of things. Then, the door opened. John turned his head to see a drenched Sherlock. His curls were flat against his forehead, a drip of water fell off his nose.

“Sherlock you’re  _ soaked _ . What happened?” John stood up and walked up to Sherlock, trying to get his coat off. The detective shooed his hands away.

“Taxi broke down on the way home, got impatient, walked swiftly home.” And he placed his freezing cold hands on John’s cheeks, pulling him in for a kiss. His lips were just as cold as his hands, resulting in John shuddering. Sherlock tried to pull him closer, but the doctor pulled back.

“Welcome home, but we  _ need _ to get you out of these clothes, you’ll freeze to death, you  _ idiot _ .” And his hands rushed to peel off the drenched coat, hanging it over a chair.

“John, I’ve been gone for nearly two weeks, my coat will be fine.” But John shook his head.

“You’re going to get undressed, go have a warm shower, and come back out here when you aren’t at a risk of damaging your body. You’re  _ shivering _ .”

“I’ll be fine I just want-”

“Sherlock. Holmes. Hop in the shower, or I’ll never kiss you again. And I mean it.” Sherlock huffed and walked to the shower, and John couldn’t help notice how nicely the wet shirt clinged to the detective’s back muscles.

After about fifteen minutes, Sherlock came out of the shower, a towel tucked around his hips. He walked up to John, who was sitting on the sofa, a smug grin on his face.

“Do I really need to get dressed? I think it might be quicker to get to the point if I left the towel on.”

“Sherlock, you’re going to freeze.”

“Then warm me up.” He purred, placing a kiss on John’s cheek.

“You fucking git.” John groaned, pulling him into his lap, kissing him passionately. The kisses were needy, as Sherlock’s fingers started to unbutton John’s top. The detective pulled back to place a kiss on John’s neck, his damp hair tickling the doctor's cheek.

“Remind me to never leave without you again,” Sherlock mumbled against the doctor’s skin, swirling his tongue around a soft spot on the doctor’s neck, resulting in a very loud moan on John’s end.

“Sherlock stop.” John muttered, and Sherlock froze, looking him in the eye.

“Is something wrong?”

“It’s your birthday, you’re the one getting the hickeys.”

“Birthdays are superficial, we don’t need to celebrate it. It’s just a day-” He was cut off as John placed a kiss on his neck. 

They changed their position so Sherlock was laying down on the sofa, his towel long done. John was on top of him, placing hot and heavy kisses down his chest, kissing sucking and nipping. 

“I read up on this interesting case that-” Sherlock stifled a moan “Dealt with a serial killer who was a germaphobe, and he used brass weapons because they’d be sterile after due to the oligodynamic effect-”

“What are you on about?” John was staring down at him now, a very confused look on his face.

“I thought it would interest you.”

“There’s a time and a place, Sherlock.” John kissed him on his lips aggressively, trailing his tongue over the lower lip of the detective.

“Should I shut up?” The taller man muttered as John worked down his neck again

“You’re the genius, figure it out.” John grinned, swirling his tongue around Sherlock’s nipple

“I wish-”  _ kiss  _ “you told me you were coming back-”  _ kiss  _ “so I could’ve gotten you a birthday gift.” He sunk his teeth into Sherlock’s nipple.

“I can think of something you could give me-” The detective moaned 

“Your Christmas present!” John bolted up, his thighs straddling Sherlock’s, just below his erection. 

“And  _ I’m _ the idiot?” 

“Hm?” John winked, his hand trailing down to rub his thumb over the tip of Sherlock’s dick “Thought I forgot about you eh?” 

Sherlock could only glare, before attempting to buck his hips against John’s hand, his movements frozen by the doctor’s strong thighs squeezing his own. 

“Patience, love.” John hummed, slowly working his hand up and down the shaft.

“I knew Mycroft was right, you  _ are _ trying to murder me.” He huffed, writhing under John’s touch, craving more. John stopped what he was doing to trace the back of his finger up from his dick to his navel, creating a small swirl. He watched intensely as goosebumps formed on the detective’s skin. Sherlock whined, writhing around like a fish out of water.

“This is torture, John, absolute torture. Just kill me and get it over with.” The detective complained, trying to buck his hips or feel some form of friction. John leaned over, his hands either side of Sherlock’s head, to whisper in his ear-

“Don’t you want to enjoy your birthday?” He placed a kiss on the lobe with a hum.

“This isn’t enjoyment, this is agony. My penis is about to fall off, it needs medical attention. You’re a doctor  _ do something. _ ”

“Drama queen.” John tutted, before standing up and kneeling, motioning Sherlock to sit up and face him on the floor. The doctor took him in his mouth, bobbing his head up and down. He couldn’t help but enjoy the uncontrolled noises Sherlock was making. The sudden gasps and fists clenching John’s hair was truly _ erotic.  _ Though the best sound Sherlock made was the yelp he made when he came, right in John’s mouth. John looked up at him with a grin, swallowing. 

The detective ran a hand through John’s hair, smiling softly.

“Beautiful…” He murmured, as John stood up. “Do you want me to-”

“Open your present from me? Yes, very much so.” John grinned, readjusting his very obvious boner.

“John you’re hard as a rock, let me help.”

“Look, I’ve been thinking about nothing but this gift I got you, and I’m still a little upset you didn’t tell me you were coming home so I could get you a birthday present as well as.” 

“Can you bring me my dressing gown at least?” He called out, as John turned on his heel to go fetch it.

“Here.” John handed him the dressing gown, balancing the rather large gift box in the crook of his right arm. After the detective made himself somewhat decent, John handed him the box.

Sherlock unwrapped it, discarding the paper next to his side. He lifted the lid, and let out a soft gasp as he unwrapped the biggest object from the tissue paper

“John you  _ didn’t _ -” He mumbled, pulling out a Seth Thomas metronome.

“There’s more.” He grinned, practically bouncing on his feet.

Sherlock unwrapped the other items, finding a vial of human teeth, a matchbox containing a couple weevils for him to pin, and a box containing some rosin.

“John these are absolutely perfect, you shouldn’t have-” He was looking at the rosin. Dark rosin, that’s strange. Sherlock only used the light version for his violin bow, and John would know that. It’s on their dresser. He must see it multiple times a day. He slid the box open, frowning, before he froze. Inside the box was a ring, a simple black band.

“Sherlock?” John asked, his heart racing. “It-it’s not an engagement ring more of a promise ring. Well I guess that  _ is _ an engagement ring, we aren’t sixteen. I just came to a realisation when you were gone that you had such a huge impact on my life, and I worried I’d lose you. I love you so much, and I just want it to be permanent. You don’t have to wear it I just thought it’d be a good idea, now that I’m rambling and saying all this I don’t know if it was a good idea. You’re not even listening, great. I broke my boyfriend.  _ Shit. _ ” 

Sherlock was just staring, not blinking. John waved his hand in front of the detective’s eyes.

“I’d rather you just say no then go silent, Sherlock.” John mumbled, his heart burning further as the seconds ticked by. 

“Yes.” Sherlock spoke, after what felt like an eternity for the both of them.

“Yes?”

“Yes, John, I’ll accept this ring.” Sherlock took it out and placed it on his ring finger and looked at it.

“We don’t have to get married, I just thought-”

“John, for the well-being of the commonwealth, stop  _ thinking. _ ” Sherlock murmured, before standing up and placing a kiss on the doctor’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think the next chapter will be the last! I gotta tie in the title somehow huh? :-)  
> thanks for reading! i really appreciate every comment and kudos.
> 
> also seth thomas metronomes are supposed to be like these dope old ones that are vintage or smth  
> idk i googled it


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternatively titled: local boy pretends to know how wedding ring stores work for 2000 words

“Do you think we should tell people?” John spoke the next day over dinner. He had picked up some kebabs on the way home, and they were sitting on the sofa indulging themselves.

“Were we not supposed to be telling people?” The detective frowned.

“I guess what I meant to ask is if we should make an effort to tell people.”

“I suppose so, unless the human race is really that idiotic that they don’t know what a man wearing a ring means.”

“Not everyone’s going to stare at your hand, Sherlock.” John chuckled, wiping the corner of his own mouth with his thumb, finishing his meal.

“Should I rub it in their faces then?” He smirked, putting their discarded food down on the coffee table.

“Yeah, why not? Let the whole world Sherlock Holmes is engaged.”

“Does this mean I have to get you a ring as well?” Sherlock asked, scooting closer to the doctor.

“I… I don’t know? Would you like to?”

“How will the whole world know who I’m engaged to?” 

“Could always get a zeppelin.” He murmured, pulling the detective closer by his neck, looking him in the eye.

“Or one of those aeroplanes with the tail messages.” Sherlock mumbled, inching his face closer.

“Maybe even on the side of a bus, with our faces snogging on it.”

“You’re wicked.”

“Would you have me any other way?” John almost whispered, before kissing Sherlock, pulling him down so John was laying down and the detective rested on top of him, making them take up the entire sofa.

Their kisses were soft and lazy, that is, until John let out a very uncomfortable groan as Sherlock kneed him in the crotch, trying to get himself in a more comfortable position.

“Are you ok?” The taller man asked, frantic.

“Gimme a minute,” John let out a breathy chuckle “Good thing we can’t have kids eh?” 

“John it would take a much more severe blow to your testicles for permanent damage to happen, and that’s a rare occurrence as is.”

“Fuck off.” He rolled his eyes, pulling Sherlock back down for another kiss. After a moment of kisses, Sherlock flopped himself on top of the blond-haired man, snuggling up.

“Reckon we’ll have a wedding? Or d’you just wanna go to the courthouse?” John hummed, running his fingers through Sherlock’s curls, a soft smile on his face.

“As if that’s a question. Of  _ course _ we’re having a wedding.”

“Does this… Does this feel real to you?” 

“What do you mean exactly?”

“I never thought in all my days I’d be getting married always saw myself dying alone as a sad, old, wrinkly man. Kinda feels like a dream, in a good way. Maybe it's because I was never really happy with the women I dated?”

“You do realise you’re talking to someone who’s never had an official relationship, correct?” 

“You never even thought about your future with someone? Or lack of, even.” 

“No, dating wasn’t really my area.  _ I’m married to my work,  _ I think I told you.” He mumbled, which caused John to chuckle slightly.

“Guess I’m your work, then.”

“John, I love you as much as I possibly can, but you’d never replace my work. That’s  _ much _ too important to me.”

“ ‘Course. Not gonna get in the way of my husband-to-be saving the world from serial killers.”

“ _ Again with the hyperboles… _ ” Sherlock sighed, though very obviously smiling.

“As if you don’t eat them up. Admit it, I’m your personal ego-booster.” John teased, jabbing his hands right above the detective’s hip gently, causing him to squirm.

“You’re wicked, absolutely vile. I can’t believe I’m getting married to a madman-” He squawked and squirmed as John tickled him, not containing his shrill laughter as the doctor’s fingers danced over his skin. He managed to grab the doctor’s hands, pinning them above his head.

“Hi.” John murmured, out of breath from laughing.

“Hello.” Sherlock purred, looking him in the eye as he licked his lips.

“You gonna let go of me?”

“Hmm, I thought about it, but decided I’d rather hold you here for the rest of your life. Seems much more fun that way.” John squirmed under his grip, only resulting in the detective tightening his hold.

“Just the two of us, rotting away together.”

“How utterly romantic.” Sherlock mumbled softly before placing a kiss on the doctor’s lips.

  
  
  


The next week or so, as John showered and got ready for work, Sherlock stood in front of the window in the living room, staring out. He had made a mental list of things he decided to do today, which he had to persuade his own self to stick to. He twisted the ring on his finger, thinking. He wasn’t sure how much time had gone by, but he was suddenly brought back to reality as John placed a kiss on his cheek, mumbling his goodbyes. After he was sure the doctor had gone, he put his coat on and headed out the door: today he was going to buy John Hamish Watson an engagement ring. 

He walked into the small jewelry shop, his body language making him stick out like a sore thumb. There was a couple near the back of the store, oohing and aaing and certain rings. He then made eye contact with a lady with tragically thin eyebrows and too much blue eyeshadow.

“Can I help you look for something, sir?” She asks, grinning to reveal lipstick on her teeth. 

“I’m looking for a ring.” He spoke, glancing down at the glass box in front of him.

“Well we have some lovely engagement rings over here,” She gestured to the display of rings speckled in jewels, labelled ‘For Her’. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

“His name is John.” He responded, a stoic look on his face.

“Oh, my-my apologies sir I didn’t mean to assume. Er…” She stammered over her words, before awkwardly gesturing to the male rings. He had a smug expression on his face as he looked over the rings. 

“Can I see that one?” He pointed with a slender finger to a silver ring. She nodded and pulled it out, handing it to the detective to examine. “Hm, I’m not quite sure this is very ‘John’.”

“Well, what’s he like? Maybe I can help!” She beamed, her face still flushed from embarrassment as she put the ring back in the display case.

“Ex-military man. He’s short, but carries it well. A doctor, but writer at heart. He has this… blog thing that he keeps. Quite dull for my standards, but he cherishes it. He’s, prideful, really. His eyes are grey, like an overcast storm, and when he smiles the skin around them crinkles. His nose bunches up when he laughs and it’s… melodic. He always has the worst bedhead in the morning, though it’s those soft moments in the morning I cherish most.” He lost himself in his words as he spoke, an image of John dancing in his head. She probably meant hobbies and interests, but Sherlock didn’t care. He wanted to brag about his husband-to-be.

“I’d consider a warmer gold, sir,” The lady responded, a warm smile on her face as she pulled out an example “A bit traditional, I know, but I’m convinced he’ll love whatever ring you pick for him. The thinner band might be easier for him to get used to if he’s constantly typing and working with patients. Thicker rings also result in awkwardness with gloves.”

Sherlock examined the ring, a small grin appearing on his face. 

“I’ll take it, thank you.” He paid and left, heading across the street to Curry’s, fiddling with the box in his pocket the entire way home. He picked up a flash drive there, before headed home. Two out of three things we’re complete, but part three would take a while.

  
  
  
  


When John came home at six o’clock, he realised the house was empty. Strange. He looked around the rooms to see if Sherlock was hiding, but he wasn’t. He frowned, but didn’t think much of it. He started to warm up dinner, a steak and kidney pie he'd bought frozen from the butcher's.

 

_ Will you be home soon?  _ John took out his phone to send the message, fiddling with the case. The food had gone long cold, and he placed Sherlock’s in the microwave.

 

_ No. - SH  _  Came the reply, almost an hour later. He frowned as he read the single word his partner had sent him over again.

 

 _Yard got you on a case?_ _Dinner’s in the microwave for you._

 

No reply.

 

_ Just let me know when you’re on your way home x _

 

Nothing. 

John was worried. Sherlock, though not one to talk from time to time,  _ always  _ messaged him. As the anxiety brewed within him, he had a lay down in their bed, feeling awfully hollow inside. Had he done something wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the next chapter might be where i end it, all depends on the flow of it all! :)  
> ppl are asking for full blown sex and idk if i can actually write it, but i'm gonna try for the next chapter!  
> no promises, but i'll try.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i didn't write sex

 

John woke up early in the morning, the moon still out, as the lingering sound of gunshots echoed through his memories. He sat up in bed and looked over to Sherlock’s side, hoping he’d be there.

He wasn’t.

John checked his phone for messages.

No new messages.

_ Shit. _ John got up, his legs still stiff, and hobbled out to the living room.

No Sherlock.

John didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t thinking as he texted Mycroft, telling him his younger brother wasn’t responding to his texts, and left no sign of leaving. After Mycroft told him the fear of relapsing at Christmas, John had been more cautious around his partner. Had his proposal pushed him over the edge?

He sat on the sofa, waiting on a response from the elder brother. He didn’t know why he expected an immediate reply, it was 4 o’clock in the morning. There was no use trying to fall asleep now, so he sat in the living room, the only light coming from the television he’d turn on. Something about the reruns of QI in the background helped him calm his anxieties down. He knew it was his lingering PTSD stressing him out, but it’s not like he had an off switch. He grounded himself, focusing from the old carpet beneath his feet, to the feel of his pyjamas on his legs and body, the phone in his hand, and the slight itch that he had on the back of his head.

He stared at Stephen Fry on the television, focusing on the enunciation of the words, trying his best to calm down. It wasn’t worth worrying. Sherlock hadn’t shown any signs of relapsing or intention on doing so.  _ It’s just lingering paranoia _ he told himself, as the Essex accent of Alan Davies lulled him to sleep, if that was humanly possible.

He woke up, his head feeling like his brain had been replaced with a brick overnight. He stifled a groan and looked over, seeing Mycroft sitting in Sherlock’s chair.

“When the  _ fuck _ did you get here?” He hissed through his teeth, an uncomfortable look upon his face

“Mrs. Hudson let me in about twenty minutes ago.”

“ ‘Course she did. Have you been in contact with Sherlock?”

“I have not, though I have been keeping tabs on him.”

“And?” John was frowning

“He’s been at the library.”

“Do you know why?”

“I do.” Mycroft stood up, adjusting his waistcoat.

“Are you going to tell me?”

“I’m afraid Doctor Watson, that this doesn’t concern you.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I think, Doctor Watson, that your partner is  _ trying _ to hide something from you. Take it as a grain of salt.” He gave his courtesy smile and walked out the door, leaving John confused and hurt.

“Did he at least say when he’d be back?” John yelled out, and huffed when the door was slammed.

“Great.” He muttered to himself. He was now left more confused than before.

  
  
  


It had been ninety-two hours since John had seen Sherlock last, the only conversation resided in cryptic texts sent from the detective. John felt hurt, as his worrisome self went throughout his day and attempted to live like he wasn’t heartbroken.

When John walked up the stairs from his last shift, he heard violin music. He stormed up the stairs and swung the door open, to see Sherlock fiddling away on his instrument.

“What the  _ hell, _ Sherlock?”

“John! You’re home-” He smiled, placing his instrument down.

“You’ve been gone for what, four days- only sending me one worded texts, and you’re just here like nothing fucking happened?”

“I thought you’d understand.”

“Understand  _ what? _ You didn’t tell me  _ anything.” _

“I was under the impression you’d contact Mycroft, and he told you.”

“I shouldn’t have to talk to your pissing brother to figure out where you are! I was scared to death, I thought you’d wind up dead in an alleyway.” John slammed the door behind himself, and stormed up to Sherlock, breathing heavy, his hands in fists. Sherlock’s mouth was agape, looking down at the shorter man. His look slowly turned into a confused frown.

“You thought I wasn’t coming back.”

“No, I thought you left me,” John’s shoulders relaxed as he unclenched his fists, his voice suddenly small. “Look, if it was a case or something you could’ve at least told me. I would’ve understood.”

Sherlock placed his hand under the doctor’s chin, tilting his head up.

“I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. I actually have something to show you.” The detective spoke as he removed his hand from John’s chin, and picked up his laptop. He opened up to nearly a dozen tabs of excel sheets and word documents.

“What’s all this?”

“I spent the last four days at the university library typing up and organising all the data I had on you.”

“Why?”

“After you proposed I suddenly realised how real this all was, in a good way. I went through my mind palace and made a physical copy of the statistics, numbers, and notes I made of you. See-” Sherlock opened a tab, revealing a list titled ‘John’s takeaway orders.’, and another reading ‘John Watson’s clothing sizes.’, as well as ‘John’s favourites.’

“Also,” The detective began to speak again, as he opened an excel sheet, full of times and numbers. “I noted the exact time I realised I was in love with you. I could never forgive myself if I lost this information.”

“I’m still confused as to what this has to do with us being engaged.”

“I was seeing if anything didn’t add up. The statistical probability of us falling in love was extortionately low. I couldn’t believe it. I went through every possible outcome of our flatmateship, and our friendship. I had to figure out how, out of all the possible options, I got the best one possible.”

“You wrote this out so I knew how much you cared about me?”

“I never want to forget this information, John. Now if I accidentally erase it, I’ve got it backed up. The cloud is a magnificent place. I wasn't expecting myself to show it to you, however I thought it could bring light to the emotions festering within yourself right now.”

“Your sodding brother told me that you were hiding something from me. I thought it was drugs.” John spoke, looking Sherlock in the eye.

“Now your reaction makes a bit more sense than I had expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“Spontaneous ‘welcome home’ sex?” He sounded hopeful, which earned him a chuckle from John.

“C’mere,” John mumbled, pulling him down for a gentle kiss. “Welcome home.”

“I have something else for you,” The detective mumbled, fumbling in his pocket. He pulled out a box and opened it, handing it to John. “Will you marry me?”

"Yes, you madman, I'll marry you." John was grinning, placing another kiss on the detective's lips

 

Sherlock slipped the ring onto his finger, and all felt right in the world.

 

John Watson and Sherlock Holmes, together ‘til the end of the universe.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gOd i already miss this fic, i wish i could add more to it but i feel like it wouldn't end properly.  
> i feel like this chapter is so weak and im not doing it justice :((( 
> 
> anyway i hope you enjoyed it as much as i enjoyed writing it! :')
> 
> im working on a uni au one right now! feel free to pop on by in the future and give it a read.
> 
> this is my First Ever Fic, and it started off as me just writing them, i didn't ever see myself posting it anywhere. some call it shame, others call it laziness, i call it both!


End file.
